


I Know This Whole Damn City Thinks It Needs You, But Not As Much As I Do

by ThatsWildPatrick



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Baseball player Pete, Comic book enthusiast Andy J. Hurley, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Kink, Fluff, For comedic purposes, Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Horror movie enthusiast Joe, Humor, I hope, I swear, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Chronicle, Jock Pete, Just happy boys with superpowers, Kinda pretentious Patrick, Literally just teenagers being dumb, Literally no/little angst, M/M, Memes, Multi, Nerd Andy, Only if you squint - Freeform, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Smut, Soccer Player Pete, Star Wars fanboy Andy, Stoner Joe, Summer, Superpowers, Swearing, Teenage Dorks, Telekinesis, Theatre kid Patrick, Training, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, aesthetic, but with superpowers, drunk marriage, it's cute i promise, oblivious gays, oh yeah, patrick is so done, so many memes, theres smut i forgot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-30 06:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 84,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12103029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsWildPatrick/pseuds/ThatsWildPatrick
Summary: Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley- arguably the weirdest clique in the entire school.How a pissy theatre kid, an over-excited sportsfreak, a stoner and a comic book nerd ever hung out in the first place was beyond everyone else.They had nothing in common, they were polar opposites of each other- Hell, they looked as though they could hardly stand each other most of the time.People had no idea how on earth they were friends.Only they knew. And they'd never tell a soul.





	1. The Anti-Social Social Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well boys and girls, time for fic number 5: The happy one (as voted by you guys!).  
> I really hope you'll enjoy this fic, because I am so excited for it- so I hope you all are too!  
> Real quick, I just wanted to thank everyone again; From people who've been reading since my first fic, to the ones who've just found this one by accident- thank you all for your time and support, it means so much to me.  
> I love you all, and thank you so much again! Hope you all enjoy! <3

 

Andy didn't hate school.

 

It was odd, he supposed; So many people would complain about it, others would grieve the brutal death of summer- or of Christmas, and everyone else would just plain _bitch_ about how much homework they were getting.

 

Despite the complaining, the yelling, and the kids having existential crises in the corners of the halls- Andy really liked school.

 

Without trying to sound like a pretentious fuck, he'd always been quite _good_ at school.

 

On one hand, his academics were great; He'd been a straight A student since his first day in grade school, his reports were always glowing with praise, and they always gave his mom great bragging material. Not that Andy minded, he was just glad he made her happy.

 

On the other, he wasn't a total social recluse. So that was great.

 

Okay.

 

Admittedly.

 

While he may not have been a 'recluse', he _was_ somewhat of a hermit; He much preferred to sit on empty bleachers, in the library, or just under a plain old tree, and read comics than actually interact with people.

 

He didn’t get bullied or anything though, thank god. Nope, he knew everyone and everyone knew him- from a distance; To them, Andy was the comic book kid, and to him, they were _packs_. Packs of wildly different people, groups that divided the weak, and the strong.

 

 

It was like a National Geographic documentary.

 

 

Andy paced along the concrete floor that lined the edge of the baseball field, a hand wrapped around one of his rucksack straps as he glanced up towards his left idly.

 

A wire fence marked where the baseball field began and ended, and as Andy squinted down through the tiny holes of wire that shone in the sunlight, he saw the first pack- and one of the strongest.

 

The jocks- as most people called them. It was out of habit he supposed- they didn’t really fit the old, and _seriously_ outdated stereotype.

 

"Hey _Kyle_ , catch!"

 

" _Brad_ \- _bro_ \- don't-!"

 

Okay, maybe they did.

 

Well, while some of them definitely _did_ \- _looking at you Kyle and Brad_ , others very decidedly _didn't_.

Andy's gaze moved from the two tall, bulky kids who were now playing a very violent game of catch, and instead, towards a short, skinny figure- who was idly swinging a baseball bat at pretend softballs.

 

Now, a kid like that most definitely didn't fit the jock mould.

 

"Hey Pete! You ready for the-"

 

And yet, the strange creatures had accepted him as one of their own.

 

Andy assumed it was because Pete Wentz- said slightly shorter than average kid, was a bona fide _machine_ when it came to sports; He played everything and anything- and he did it _well_.

From soccer, to baseball, to football- hell, Andy was even sure he'd be a pro at fucking _horse riding_ or something- if he could gain access to a horse.

 

As Pete Wentz ended his imaginary baseball game, and went over to a kid Andy was 99% sure was called 'Chad', Andy dropped his gaze back down to the path ahead of him. He exhaled deeply as he glanced over at the steep hill he had to scale every day in order to reach the damn school.

 

Why did hills exist?

 

They didn’t help anyone, they were just obstacles and that’s all they would ever be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time he'd made it inside the school building itself, the place was already swarming with crowds; Some were loud- like the girls who screamed at each other for some reason Andy didn't understand. Some were quiet- mainly the kids who were forlornly rummaging in their lockers, mourning the end of the festive season with sad eyes and deep frowns.

 

Andy only kept to himself as he walked down the hallways towards the first lesson of the day- Trigonometry.

He'd memorized the timetable and it was only the first day, because after all- Andy was good at school.

 

He glanced towards a set of double doors on the left side of the hall, with a slight, and at this point, _automatic_ , grimace.

 

"NO- JESUS CHRIST, WE ARE NOT DOING LEGALLY BLONDE AGAIN-"

 

Theatre kids.

 

Loud, flamboyant, and had a penchant for occasionally bursting into song. Some were normal of course, not everyone fit the stereotype, but-

 

"FUCK _YOU_ \- I'LL BE ELLE WOODS 'TIL THE DAY I DIE-"

 

Most did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Andy finally got to Trigonometry, he shuffled to the back of the line and idly read over his textbook; He always liked getting a head start. It made him feel so smart when he answered a question that nobody else knew the answer too. It was a _deep_ , _satisfying_ feeling- the same kind that came after demolishing a sundae...only, without the guilt.

 

A distinct smell flooded Andy's nostrils, and his nose wrinkled as he squinted upwards, eyes flicking around as he tried to pinpoint the-

 

Stoners.

 

Of course.

 

The overwhelming smell of weed was indication enough.

Andy only quirked an eyebrow as he glanced up over the group that had brought the scent that had corrupted the air; Some fit the stereotype, others didn't.

Most, however, wore hoodies, had ruffled hair, and had lazy smiles on their faces- all topped off with red eyes.

 

His gaze shifted over to one who was idly drinking from a paper coffee cup that looked _way_ too tattered for its own good; Joe Trohman, if he remembered correctly.

 

Andy knew him.

 

Kinda.

 

Well, admittedly by ' _knew him_ ', he meant that Joe had let him borrow a pen one time in 9th grade.

 

Despite constantly having unhealthily crimson-tinted eyes, Joe was a straight A student too- which was a little odd, in Andy’s humble opinion; Andy hardly saw the guy in the library- no, he'd usually be hanging out under the bleachers with the other stoners. And since Andy assumed they didn't get much studying done down there, it had admittedly been a surprise when he'd found out that Joe Trohman was on his... _level_ \- academically, anyway.

 

The bell rang, clattering through the halls and cutting everyone's heartbeats short for a moment, before all action and noise resumed like a tsunami.

 

Andy exhaled quietly and with a blank gaze at the flurries of crowds that passed in front of him, he leaned back against the wall and tried to prepare his brain for the onslaught of trigonometry it was about to endure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One more hour, just one more class- and then he could get home and start his homework!

 

Andy liked homework. Sue him.

 

Trigonometry had been fine, and despite the slightly distracting and worrying scent of weed that had quickly made the air thick, it had been a productive hour.

 

English had been pretty fun too- Romeo and Juliet was a... _dramatic_ story, he supposed. But damn, it was better than Hamlet; A mess of murder and betrayal- all topped up with a nice little cherry of insanity.

Nope, Andy much preferred the woes of miscommunication. All the conspiracy in the latter story always served to make him paranoid.

 

But History- _ah history_ , his preferred subject. The cold war was interesting enough, and his classmates were generally quiet- so that was a godsend.

 

Physics had been fine- a little boring, truthfully, but after all, physics was the unholy demon spawn of science and mathematics- so he could give himself a little lenience for mentally complaining about it for a whole hour.

 

Oh- and there’d also been an _extremely_ tense lunch break, during which he'd read The Uncanny X-Men, issue 266. Heavy stuff, needless to say.

 

And now, it was finally time for his last class: Geography.

 

Andy leaned against a painted brick wall, head resting on the cold covered stone as he idly glanced around at the steadily forming line.

It was a mix of people; Some squealing girls, some guffawing jocks- but ultimately, Andy didn't care.

As long as he was left to work in peace, he couldn't of given a shit if one of his classmates was a fucking _pterodactyl_.

 

"I can't believe that asshole-"

 

"Oh my god, look- he said we're doing Les Miserables, so we're doing Les Miserables, okay?"

 

Andy's eyes flicked over to where a short ginger kid, with a smooth baby face, trucker cap and glasses- was firmly glowering at a girl with short, badly-dyed cyan hair.

The girl crossed her arms and pouted, kicking a toe of a steel-capped boot against the floor as her dark eyes found the subtle patterns.

" _Asshole_...'Bend and Snap' is a masterpiece."

 

" _God_."

 

Stifling a quiet chuckle at the exchange, Andy straightened his spine and pressed a palm to his mouth as he yawned, eyes tearing for a moment afterwards.

 

"-you sure about that?"

 

Another voice, behind him this time.

Andy glanced over his shoulder to see Pete Wentz, and a guy Andy was sure was called 'Jason', talking idly as they glanced around at the cheesy educational posters on the wall.

 

"Yeah dude, you're _good_ \- you can't hide back there in defence forever-"

 

The voices were cut short as their teacher, stone faced and noticeably already tired, stalked out of her classroom. She hardly glanced over her students as she waved them into the classroom, squinting at them with unwarranted suspicion as they filed inside with soft chatters and giggles.

 

Andy always tried to sit at the front; He was honestly pretty short, and whenever he sat at the back of the room, he'd always luck out and get a fucking _giraffe_ sat in front of him.

So, after learning that painful lesson through his first years in middle school, Andy had promised himself it would never happen again.

 

Subtly watching the teacher, Andy shoved his rucksack under the nearest desk to the front he could find, before round the seat and sitting down, pulling his chair forwards while being careful not to scrape it; He really didn't want to irritate the teacher on the first day back.

 

As all the students settled into their seats, the chattering died down to mere whispers, while all eyes cautiously peeked up towards the teacher.

 

Mrs. Rodriguez. Perpetually done with everyone's bullshit.

 

That wasn't to say she couldn't occasionally be nice; On the last day of the year, she'd get oddly emotional, cry and hand out sweets, but hey- nobody was _complaining_.

 

She was always quite amicable towards hard workers, and when she'd announced that to the class all those years ago on their first day, Andy had made a point of winning her over.

 

He'd succeeded, in some respects. She didn't yell at him...much- and once, she'd even drawn a smiley face on his homework.

 

 

That meant respect, Andy knew it did.

 

 

The only reason he hadn't attained full friendly status with her- as some kids that had already gone to college had, was because Andy wasn't the best at group assignments.

 

Sure, Andy knew everyone, but he had no friends.

 

Yes, he was aware of how sad that sounded.

 

It didn’t really bother him- _No_ , not at all.

 

... _Although_ , _truthfully_ , sometimes he’d catch himself just wondering what it would be like.

 

To get stupid texts at 3am, to have somebody to talk to, to go out on the weekends and just hang out.

 

Well, he could daydream all he wanted to- but he didn’t have friends, plain and simple.

 

And when the time for some group project came, everyone would scurry away to their own, preset friend groups- and Andy would be left by himself, sat at his desk awkwardly.

 

But that wasn't even the worst part.

 

Whenever he failed to join a group by himself, Mrs. Rodriguez would forcibly put him into one. That meant disrupted friendship groups, strained conversation, and _a lot_ of awkward silence.

 

On top of that, people knew he was smart. Therefore, if he was ever put with _annoying idiots_ (Andy was still a little bitter about the last time he’d worked in a group, admittedly), they'd sit back and chat about their dumb bullshit- leaving Andy with _the_ _entirety_ of the workload.

 

So, you'd think being put with the smart kids would be better, right?

 

It wasn't. It really wasn't.

 

They'd always try to outdo each other, leading to ridiculously elaborate projects that were impossible to complete without a fuckhuge budget or goddamn superpowers.

 

Fuck, Andy wished he had friends. Normal ones, ideally. It would make everything a lot simpler.

 

With a loud bang, Andy was shaken from his thoughts by the slam of a textbook on his desk; Mrs. Rodriguez had started handing the thick books out from a pile she kept tethered in the crook of her arm.

 

"Turn to page-"

 

Andy exhaled quietly as he flipped the pages open, eyes locked on the lower corners as he scanned over tiny white letters against blue edges.

 

For now, he didn't need friends- he could work by himself, at his own pace, and in _blissful_ peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"We're starting a group project-"

 

Well, that was short lived.

 

Thirty minutes of class left until the bell would ring, and that fucking bombshell had been dropped on them.

Some- most, actually, chattered excitedly, pointing and marking out which groups they'd be in. Friends grinned and huddled together, already fixing their chairs in circles.

 

"And I will pick your groups."

 

Loud moans of despair, outcries of indignation and legitimately angry groans- Andy was expecting a full blown rebellion at any moment.

 

"BECAUSE-" The chatters halted. "You obviously can't make that decision _sensibly_ for yourselves."

 

He was pretty sure they'd start screaming 'Do You Hear The People Sing?' at full volume in a minute.

 

Mrs. Rodriguez moved over to her computer, leaning down and squinting as she gave a few tugs and clicks of her mouse. A few seconds later, she began listing off names with little regard for the horrified shouts or miserable whines that came in response to them.

 

"In groups of four- First team: Powell, Cox, Richards and Sears."

 

There were sounds of low muttering and scraping chairs, and Andy glanced over his shoulder to see people dragging their chairs and bags over towards their new partners with curled lips and rolling eyes; A boy with thick glasses, a scowling kid wearing a bomber jacket, the Cyan-haired girl from earlier, and a girl with bleached hair. They looked so _completely_ mismatched- it was almost funny.

 

"Team two: Simpson, Ellis, Mendez and King."

 

A boy wearing a football jersey, a girl with a fishtail braid and a resting bitch face, one of the stoners- if the red eyes were anything to go by, and a heavyset girl with a kind, red face.

 

“Team three: Linder, Barnes, Gray and Santana.”

 

A skinny boy with a perpetual scowl and dark eye bags, a chubby boy with light hair, a girl practically plastered in tattered merch, and a brunette girl that clattered her head down onto her desk with a sad groan.

 

"Team four: Wentz, Trohman, Stump and Hurley."

 

Wait.

 

Andy blinked, and before he'd had five fucking minutes to process what the fuck had just happened, a chair shot up next to his- along with a huge, shiny white grin that invaded every inch of his vision.

 

His eyes were wider than he'd liked them to be as Pete Wentz stuck a hand out to him with crinkled eye corners, "I'm Pete."

With a slow nod, Andy took the offer of the tanned hand, and shook it, still not managing a smile through his shock at the suddenness, and at the friendliness. "Andy."

 

Pete grinned as their hands pulled back- and as another chair scraped towards them. Both boys glanced over their shoulders, quickly finding-

 

"I'm Joe."

 

The voice was deadpan, and matched perfectly with red, slow blinking eyes; Andy didn't know how it was possible for someone to be stoned during _an entire_ school day.

Joe's hands were firmly burrowed into the pockets of his parka- which he'd already pulled on in protest of staying in school for a second more than he had to.

 

Andy really didn't know how this kid had straight A's.

 

Another chair clattered down next to them- only, coupled with an exasperated sigh this time.

The ginger kid from earlier rounded the seat, movements a little clumsy as he caught one of his rucksack straps in a chair leg, leaving him tugging and working it away from the hook with sharp, irritated exhales.

When he finally freed his bag, the kid looked up towards the other three boys, brow furrowing at the gazes that met him; Patrick Stump- the composer for every musical or play the school put on, and also, one of- if not, _the best_ , singers in the whole damn place.

"Uh, Patrick. S'Patrick." The words were coupled with a shrug, but before any more awkward introductions could ensue- Mrs. Rodriguez rounded the students again, only, passing out sheets this time; Four to each group, one for each member, and they detailed what exactly their project was about.

 

_Get out into nature!_

 

Andy was cringing already.

 

_Explore your rural neighbourhood! Complete a geographic profile on a local area, this can include-_

 

Andy wanted death.

 

Andy glanced upwards, only finding three pairs of eyes squinting down at their own sheets.

Brown eyes shot away first, glancing at the other three guys before their owner cleared his throat.

Three pairs of blue flicked over to Pete, with varying degrees of irritation, but the dark-haired boy held his nerve, trying a broad smile.

 

 

"D'you guys wanna share numbers?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy had never gotten so many notifications before.

 

As he paced home down the familiar route that led him down the steep hill, and past the baseball field, Andy gave a steady, tiny smile down at his screen.

 

_WetePentz: yo wtf do we have local nature??_

 

_PatrickStump: Yes, we do._

 

_WetePentz: where tho??_

 

_PatrickStump: The forest._

 

_WetePentz: what_

 

_JoeBoy: Did you not know about the forest?_

 

_WetePentz: no??_ (Eyes )

 

_PatrickStump: I heard a lot of rumours about you being dumb._

_PatrickStump: Guess they were right._

 

_WetePentz: well excuse me for not prancing around in nature all day_

_WetePentz: theres more to life_

_Wentz: like soccer or bball like cmon_

 

_PatrickStump: ugh._

 

_PatrickStump has left the chat!_

 

_WetePentz has added PatrickStump to the chat!_

 

_WetePentz: oh no u dont_

 

_PatrickStump: Let me go._

_PatrickStump: I have stuff to do._

 

_WetePentz: nah we gotta sort this out_

_WetePentz: where we meeting??_

 

_JoeBoy: The forest._

_JoeBoy: Since Starbucks doesn't really count as nature._

 

_PatrickStump: I have rehearsal, I can't do it tonight._

 

_WetePentz: come on?? like??_

_WetePentz: its homework??_

 

_PatrickStump: Not tonight, sorry._

 

_JoeBoy: tomorrow?_

 

_PatrickStump: More rehearsal._

 

Andy chewed his lip; He knew Patrick probably wasn't too stoked about his group- hell, most people were up in arms, but…

 

Andy needed this credit- he'd settle for nothing less than an _A_.

 

_Andy: Can't you get out early or something?_

_Andy: Please?_

 

A few long moments passed, and Andy could see his street on the horizon before another quick buzz made his eyes shoot down to the screen.

 

_PatrickStump:...Fine. Tomorrow after school._

 

_JoeBoy: Forest Glen Woods?_

 

_WetePentz: im googling that i cant believe theres a forest here_

 

_PatrickStump: Whatever. Bye guys._

 

_JoeBoy: G'bye_

 

_Andy: Bye, and thanks_

 

_PatrickStump: No problem._

 

_WetePentz: AU REVOIR_

 

_PatrickStump: ugh._

 

_PatrickStump has left the chat!_

 

Andy's mouth quirked upwards as he fished his keys from his pocket, jamming into the lock on his front door, before turning them and pushing inside.

 

Another buzz pulled his eyes downwards.

 

_WetePentz: HOLY SHIT THERES DEERS I CANT WAIT_

 

Andy laughed quietly, shoving his phone back in his pocket as he made the climb up to his room, steeling himself for the, already mountainous, amount of homework that awaited him, lurking like a monster in his rucksack, and between the pages of his notepads.

 

Another buzz.

 

_JoeBoy: You know it's not 'deers' right?_

 

_WetePentz: i may or may not be failing english_

 

 


	2. The Wilmette Witch Project

 

Manchester Black- definitely one of his all-time favourite characters; An antihero with telepathy and telekinesis, and the star of one of the first comics Andy had ever owned. Sure, it'd been seriously abused by one of his cousins, and then passed down as a second thought, but even back then until now- it had always fascinated him.

His brain had felt as battered as the old pages looked, after an hour of rigorous Spanish; Andy was pretty good at math, science- and just about anything that didn't require speech, so naturally, languages had always been his downfall. But despite that little pitfall, he'd always had to put in that little bit of _extra effort_ to get his grades up, and while he always did so- _without_ complaint, his mind would always be a little fried afterwards.

 

The only way he'd found to un-daze his brain so far- was to _read_ , oddly enough.

 

So, after the tricky hour of memorizing lists upon lists of verbs and adjectives, Andy had retreated to his favourite spot of all time; A tall, and just plain huge Drummonds Red Maple, that sat on the outskirts of the school's fields.

Andy had found the spot in his first year, and he'd been astonished that more people hadn't made use of it; The tree was amazing. On sunny days through to snowy ones; He always loved watching sunbeams light the red leaves up like flames, and he always loved watching layers of snow- that looked more like icing sugar, coat the red delicately. It was Andy's favourite place.

 

However, despite his avid reading of Action Comics Vol 1. 775, and despite being huddled in his favourite place in the entire world- his mind just _couldn't_ shake thoughts of his new geography group.

They were a little odd, in Andy's opinion. He didn't understand how they could be so brash, and how they could insult each other _so_ much- without ever having even truly _met_ before. Hell, Andy hadn't said a word until he'd really _had_ to.

 

So far, his eyes could hardly believe the texts that Pete and Patrick fired back and forth at each other; Patrick's were irritated, sarcastic, and just plain pissy, but Pete's were unwaveringly cheery and silly- only expressing mild insult that would quickly melt away at Patrick's quips. They bickered like an old married couple, and truthfully, at first anyway, Andy had been under the impression they were old friends- but apparently not, as Patrick had quickly corrected him with a flustered line of: ' _I'd never be friends with that asshole._ ' But regardless, Andy still wondered if there was history there- maybe it was just bad history, rather than the good he'd assumed off the bat.

 

And Joe- god, Joe was so levelheaded, Andy could hardly believe it. He blended into Pete and Patrick's exchanges seamlessly, disarming and calming all parties down with really odd and just plain bizarre status updates.

 

The constant buzzes of notifications ringing from his phone were something he'd never thought he'd hear. It was kinda nice.

 

Kinda.

 

Because sometimes, _just sometimes_ , he'd open the notification to find something... _concerning_ , to say the least.

 

A buzz rang from his pocket

 

_WetePentz: skrrrrt you slap your shit to fake titties being a barbarian freak neanderthal with a brain the size of four (4) rice grains while i unlock my hoes’ chakras daily (telepathically) with my Einstein brain that has nine hundred trillion neurons lil nigga (Face With Tears Of Joy )(Fire )(Fire )(Fire )(Fire )(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Cheering Megaphone ≊ Megaphone) head ass bwoy go raw an anime pillow (Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Fire )(Cheering Megaphone ≊ Megaphone)(Cheering Megaphone ≊ Megaphone)wit your dusty osoi desu ass (Cheering Megaphone ≊ Megaphone)(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Fire )(Fire )(Fire )(Eyes ) _

 

_PatrickStump: I'm blocking you._

 

_WetePentz: but daddy_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sneakers crunching down on dry, beige leaves, and breathing in the crisp, breezy air, Andy paced down a rich dirt path.

It led towards a wooden fence that stretched as far as the eye could see. And behind it, sat trees- more trees than Andy had ever seen in his entire life; From tiny ones with red leaves, to skinny ones with silver. To proud spruces and pines, to towering and twisted oaks.

Roots bumped out from the dirt, creating obstacles and hurdles for the unwitting, and as the light burst through the clouds of basil leaves, the whole place was submerged in a hazy, chartreuse light.

 

It was beautiful.

 

Andy was shocked he'd never come here before. While unlike Pete, Andy had known the forest existed- he'd never made the effort to visit.

 

It seemed _not_ _many_ did, though; There were no cars, no dogs barking, no ambient human bustling. It would've been eerie, if the trees hadn't been so beautiful and if the day hadn't been so bright.

 

After a few minutes of listening to the faint calls of birds, and to the rustling leaves- either brushing in the wind or crunching under his footfalls, Andy stuttered to a stop at a black wooden sign.

 

It had golden lettering reading the least creative name Andy had ever seen: Big woods.

 

Literally.

 

Although, below the sign, was a much more interesting sight. There was a figure clad in a black sweater, hood pulled up over their head and shading their eyes from a beam of light that hit them head on.

They were leaning on one of the posts, one hand shoved in a pocket and the other deftly typing something out on their phone.

 

After finally getting Pete to stop posting weird, _slightly_ _disturbing_ , walls of text, they'd all resolved to make the journeys to the forest alone, and just meet there at around 3:30.

 

However, something that had escaped all four of them was _where_ exactly in the huge scary woods they were gonna meet.

Andy had initially resolved to just wander around and try to look for signs of human activity, but as the hooded figure glanced upwards, he figured he wouldn't have to.

 

"Hey."

Joe's hood slinked from his head as he gave Andy a small smile, pocketing his phone as the sunbeam both blinded him and lit up the sharp blue of his eyes. As the light and the heat attacked his short curly hair, turning it dark brown to mousey, he pulled his hood up again and straightened up from the post.

"Hi."

Andy inched forwards with an equally tiny smile, before he settled on the farthest post, burying his hands in his pockets to busy them with picking at the loose strands inside. With a small nod, Joe slunk down against the wood again, tipping his head back against the golden carved letters with slow, methodical and rhythmic thunks.

 

"So uh...How were your classes?"

 

Andy had never been the best at small talk, but goddamnit, he had to try; This day, and the one before, had been the closest he'd ever come to having _actual_ friends- and he'd be damned if he wouldn't try to keep them.

 

One of Joe's eyebrows quirked, but he rolled his head on the wood to look at Andy with a soft, chill gaze. "Fine. Yours?"

 

Andy only nodded oddly.

 

Goddamnit.

 

Why was he so awkward?

 

 

 

"Hey guys!"

 

 

 

Both Andy and Joe glanced away from each other, and instead squinted up at an approaching figure through the sunbeams.  
  
A dark hoodie slung over his burgundy, navy-sleeved baseball jersey, Pete strode towards them with an easy smile; One hand tugged his rucksack further up over his shoulder, whilst the other idly swung at his side.

 

"Hey."

"Hey, Pete."

 

As soon as Pete had reached them, more footsteps echoed behind the trio, and as they quickly glanced over, they found-

 

"Hey Patrick." Joe suddenly furrowed his brow, tilting his head as his eyes flitted between Pete and Patrick. "...Did you guys walk together or…?"

 

"Nah, Patrick made me walk like, _five meters_ in front of him."

 

"Needed to stay out of _the infection zone_." Patrick sighed as he approached them, tipping his cap down over his eyes and quickly taking a stand beside Andy- distancing himself from the dark-haired boy as much as he could without inadvertently moonwalking into the trees.

 

There were a few beats of silence and awkward eye-shifting, before Pete gave a happy sigh and motioned his head towards the path that lead into the forest. "We should get started."

 

No one could argue with that.

 

But Patrick was definitely still gonna try.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, all I'm saying is-"

 

"I know what you're saying and I-"

 

Joe huffed in amusement at Pete and Patrick's bickering, and he shook his head lightly, eyes sweeping over the clusters of trees that led them along clear, trickling rivers and tiny, miniature bubbly waterfalls.

 

Andy had found himself glancing over at Joe quite a bit.

 

To be completely honest, the kid had always intrigued him; He did little to no studying- as far as Andy could see, and yet, he was at- if not _above_ , Andy's level. And fuck, he wanted to know _how_ he did it.

Andy busted his ass working into the small hours, and he _still_ struggled with some subjects.

But Joe-fucking-Trohman was just _perfect_ at everything. He was even decent at _sports_ \- and not to mention Spanish; Pretty much the whole school was convinced he was secretly Mexican.

Joe was everything Andy needed to be (weed excluded), and the fact that he'd breezed to that level so easily made something under Andy's skin itch.

 

"So...you...like geography?"

 

Andy's brow furrowed at the question for a moment, before he blinked quickly and answered with a small smile, biting back his bitter and jealous thoughts. "Yeah, I uh- I do." Joe's eyes widened and he nodded eagerly, before dropping his gaze ahead with a quiet cough. Andy groaned inwardly as he sensed that the atmosphere would grow awkward and tense again, before the most perfectly timed interruption arrived.

 

"Hey guys?"

 

Pete glided up beside them, taking a place next to Joe, and leaving Patrick to trod next to Andy with a dulled gaze. The two questioning looks he received from Andy and Joe urged him on. "What are we doing the profile thingy on?"

Instantly, Joe quirked an eyebrow over at Andy, seemingly giving him the leeway to choose. Andy was actually...shocked. He'd always just kinda...been taken along for the ride; Sure he'd be left with the workload- but only after everyone else had already made the decisions.

 

"Uh...I dunno...uh- rivers? Or- lakes, or something?"

 

Pete nodded happily, bouncing forwards with an easy smile as he squinted up at the roof of leaves that sheltered the ground.

Joe looked mildly pleased, lips quirking upwards as he looked down instead, surveying the bumps and knots of wood in the earth.

Patrick was idly kicking pebbles away from the trail, but he looked just as deadpan as he had earlier- only, after throwing some subtle glances his way, Andy was pretty sure he was just exhausted; Although he'd never actually been to see one, he'd heard plays were _not_ easy feats- especially when dealing with such headstrong and whiny coworkers. It sounded like a bona fide nightmare to him.

When he usually hung out with people for whatever reason, Andy had always had an uneasy nausea swirling through his stomach. It would render him quiet, sick, and more awkward than usual.

 

But, now that he thought about it, as he paced down the faint dirt path, ears ringing with three other sets of footsteps beside his own...he didn't feel like he was gonna throw up.

 

That was interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun had drifted across the sky, bringing a hood of darkness over the forest.

 

They'd been pretty successful at first; They'd found an amazing lake- clear, practically shimmering in the light, and settled in a grove, protected by a guard of tall, thick spruce trees.

They'd taken some notes, marked it on a map Pete had snatched from the information booth, and had shared a light conversation which Andy had really enjoyed more than he probably should've.

 

And then, they'd gotten lost.

 

"I swear- this is turning into The Blair Witch Project."

 

"Shut up."

 

"I swear to god, we're gonna start finding stacks of-"

 

"Seriously shut up." Patrick's try at an intimidating hiss was completely destroyed by the unwilled whimper that cracked his words like an egg. Pete only cocked his head, eyebrows jumping upwards as he chased Patrick's firm glare at the slowly darkening, and now, unmarked, path.

 

"...Are you scared of The Blair Witch Project?"

 

"It's a bunch of kids getting murdered in the woods- what the fuck do _you_ think?"

 

"Oh my god, you're scared of the Blair Witch Project."

 

Patrick's glower and try at a comeback was quickly severed as another whimper crawled through his throat, but he quickly stifled it as he flicked his head away from Pete- glaring at the black river instead.

 

"Aw, don't worry, Patty. I'll protect you from the witch-"

 

" _Fuck off_."

 

Joe only snorted and shook his head, "It's fine." He rooted around in his pocket, quickly fetching his phone and tapping the flashlight on, instantly lighting up the vague path.

 

Andy really wondered why none of them had thought of that sooner.

 

Fuck, they were hopeless.

 

"That movie sucks, and besides- Witches aren't real anyways."

 

Pete made a doubtful noise and shrugged, "I dunno dude- I'm pretty sure-"

 

"Pete. If you don't shut the fuck up about witches, I'm gonna drown you in that fucking river."

 

Pete only gave a dramatic gasp at the threat, pressing a shocked hand to his heart and widening his eyes over at Patrick theatrically. Andy was pretty sure he'd be clutching his pearls right now, if he had them. "Is that _a_ _challenge?_ "

 

" _Jesus_ -"

 

A thundering roll cut through the words.

 

It was louder than anything Andy had ever heard before; It made his very skull ache as it blinded out all other sound from the world. It made white flash behind his eyelids, it made his ears itch with coursing blood, and it struck a bolt of lightning into his chest, sending his heart into a frenzy.

It was like the booming of a trumpet, the rolling of a drum, and the whirring of a monstrous power drill all rolled into one.

  
  
Four yelps cut through the air, and four pairs of hands jumped to their respective ears as their eyes squeezed shut, deep grunts nestling in the bases of their throats, before desperate, panicked screams leapt forth instead.

 

"OH GOD- WHAT THE FUCK-"

 

"I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING- I CAN'T-"

 

"CALM DOWN. JUST- EVERYONE CALM THE FUCK DOWN."

 

Tears broke out through the crinkled seams of Andy's eyes as his teeth gritted and as his jaw clenched; He could hardly hear the shouts and screams of the others as he stumbled forwards in a desperate try to get out of the woods- and away from whatever _the hell_ that noise was.

 

And then, it stopped.

 

Furrowed brows, gaping jaws and confused and panicky glances- all four pairs of hands dropped from four sets of ears. Shoulders hunched, footsteps timid and breathing heavy, all four boys gulped and strained and struggled to find the right words to say.

 

Pete's eyes drifted from the others, squinting and no doubt achy as they glanced up over a steep hill that was lined with a few sparse trees. Andy followed his stare, along with Joe and Patrick, and their eyes widening softly at what they saw.

 

There was a faint glow behind the hill- barely noticeable, but definitely there. Purple and hazy, blending like a gradient against the inky blackness that had shrouded the whole forest as night had crept up on them, like an unnoticed- and _very_ unwelcome visitor.

 

"Are you...are you guys seeing that?"

 

"Yeah." Patrick's answer to Pete's gormless question was breathy and sighed, and with a nod- and the confirmation that he wasn't just going crazy, Pete put on a stony, brave face, and stepped forwards.

"Wait- what are you doing?" Andy gave Pete a panicky look- that was quickly shared in by Patrick's strained whine and impossibly wide eyes. Despite the protests, and the _obvious_ bad idea of strolling towards an ominous glow in the woods- Joe stepped forwards too.

With periodically bobbing Adam's apples, Joe and Pete paced forwards together, before reaching the foot of the hill.

Using jutting rocks and bumpy roots as precarious footholds, Pete began scaling the hill, offering a hand to Joe- who was struggling a little more than the dark-haired boy was.

Dry dirt on knees and hands, red grazed fingertips and palms, and quiet, yet heavy pants- along with vehement protests from Patrick and Andy in the background, Pete and Joe finally scrabbled up the hill, before-

 

"Oh wait! There's a path!"

 

Pete's arm was rigid and raised, along with his finger, as he pointed out a winding path that led up the steep hill, clearly marked with a huge ass sign Andy wasn't sure how they hadn't noticed.

 

With a reluctant glance at each other, Patrick and Andy sighed and trudged up the path, quickly joining Pete and Joe- who had subsequently fallen quiet with open mouths as they gazed at-

 

Holy shit.

 

The entire ground was _glowing_ \- as though there were lights shining under the earth.

The blades of grass were glowing, webbed with _neon_ veins. The ridges and bumps of roots and stones were practically _purple_ under the dark sky, and the entire clearing was radiating violet light.

The light cast upwards to the trees, making the leaves' veins glow brightly, as neon heather light snaked up their trees' trunks- highlighting every root that joined them to the earth.

The violet haze even reached the stars- tinting the twinkling white with purple, and even staining _the moon itself_ with lavender.

 

It was perfectly, beautifully, and astonishingly- ethereal.

 

Andy glanced downwards, gaze sweeping over their feet; Bursts of blinding, neon violet lined each of their pairs of soles, as though the light could actually _sense_ them. As though they were _tethered_ to the planet itself.

 

It was, simultaneously, the most beautiful and scariest thing he'd ever seen.

 

"...This is some _Avatar_ shit."

 

"Yes, very eloquent, Pete."

 

The quipped exchange made Andy's thundering heart calm in his chest- but the breathiness and fear behind the words made his spine tremble.

 

The thundering came again, and as they toppled backwards, arms and hands shot out to steady others. As soon as everyone was steady- and in no danger of falling off of a bona fide _cliff_ , those hands quickly clapped over ears as Pete led the charge forwards, soldiering towards the apparent source of the light.

 

Andy had read enough comics to know two things for sure:

 

A: This was the work of aliens, and they were all gonna die.

 

Or, B: They were gonna get superpowers.

 

And since Andy _truly_ doubted the latter, the former turned his legs to noodles and his stomach to jelly- all as something bitter made a lumpy nest in his throat, just above his Adam's apple.

 

"Wait- Pete- Joe-" Patrick groaned in frustration, shaking himself angrily and stomping a leg against the glowing ground- practically sending neon sparks flying in flurries, as he stomped forwards after them with firmly crossed arms.

 

Only for a moment, Andy hung back. He watched the way the ground lit up at their steps; The angrier and harder the steps were- the harsher and brighter the light was. The lighter and more timid the footfalls were, the dimmer the glow.

 

To be honest, his frazzled brain couldn't make sense of anything right now; Someone could've asked him something as basic as 1 + 1 = 2, and he doubted he could've given them the correct answer.

 

He'd probably say some stupid bullshit like 27.

 

Yeah.

 

It was that bad.

 

Without a rational thought running through his head, Andy stumbled forwards after the other three, quickly joining Patrick at the back of the pack as Pete took the lead- with Joe hanging out precariously in the middle.

 

On further and _closer_ inspection, there appeared to be a _hole,_ of sorts.

There was a faint glow coming from it, but it was a lot darker than Andy had expected it to be; He'd imagined a blinding burst of pastel purple, not a faint, eggplant glow.

 

With a shaky sigh, Pete did the stupidest thing he could've done in this situation.

 

He crawled down into the hole.

 

As the ringing died down again, Patrick's, Joe's- and hell, even _Andy's_ , screams of pleading and warning filled the air once again- but they went completely ignored by Pete, who only poked his head out of the hole like a fucking gopher.

 

"Hey guys, come down here!"

 

Well, that was obviously a fucking trap.

 

An alien had probably killed Pete and taken his skin.

 

Yet for some _idiotic_ reason- that was most likely due to their hazy brains, Joe- swiftly followed by Patrick and Andy, jumped down into the hole too.

 

It was probably the stupidest thing Andy had ever done.

 

 

 

 

The hole wasn't a hole at all, apparently.

Instead, it was more like a small underground cave- with a stupidly low ceiling. Walls made of moist soil, glowing purple with tiny roots, lighting up the long and short earthworms that wiggled around blindly in the rich darkness.

Pete only nodded forwards.

There was a short walk, maybe one, two meters, that ended in a bend- resulting in something they couldn't see, on account of the corner.

 

But whatever was behind said corner, was glowing angrily.

 

"See? This is so fucking _cool_ -"

 

"We are literally the dumb white people in every horror movie ever- I hope you know that."

 

Pete only rolled his eyes, face split into a grin as he chuckled at Patrick's terse accusation.

Ignoring it completely, Pete bounced down the short distance, head bent uncomfortably against the low ceiling. He reached the edge, and glanced back at the others for a moment, before wrapping a hand around the corner and poking his head past the obstacle.

His eyes widened to the size of moons, and his jaw dropped into a perfect 'o' as he gasped breathily.

 

That reaction alone was enough to drive Andy forwards too.

 

Joining Pete at the corner, he stuck his head out from behind the dark-haired boy's shoulder to see-

 

It was a rock.

 

Or- more of a boulder, really; Huge, round, and webbed with lines and trails of glowing neon purple.

The light flared and dimmed like a heartbeat, lighting up and dying down in steady beats that made faint drumming sounds. It sounded like a heart.

And combined with the way Andy's own pulse thundered, and along with those of Pete, Joe and Patrick- it was almost a tribal song of sorts. Thundering, raw, and just plain chilling.

The mere sight, the mere _sound_ \- all of it made goosebumps jump up on Andy's skin, along with making the hairs that covered him stand on end in some instinctual alarm that either meant: A. Something was wrong, or B. He was just plain astounded.

 

Joe and Patrick had crawled up next to them, and with wordless shifting, all four boys were finally stood in the earthy doorframe, all bathed in the blinding light- that for some reason, didn't make their eyes ache or squint in the slightest.

 

And then, the rolls of thunder came again.

 

It was louder than it had been before. They were now in the full presence of the unearthly source, and by the way it invaded and attacked every atom in their bodies- Andy had finally concluded that this had really been _an awful_ idea.

 

They all stumbled backwards, physically tossed aside by the mere sound waves that pressed into them- suffocating them against their invisible weight.

Andy felt warmth trickling down his nose and from his ears- accompanied with the worst pain Andy had ever felt, rumbling through his head and cracking over his skull like a whip.

It was even worse than that time he'd broken his leg in 7th grade- and _that_ had been truly harrowing.

 

"WE- WE GOTTA GET-"

 

"FUCK- JUST MOVE- HOLY- CHRIST-"

 

The glowing became frantic, and the pulses of light sped up impossibly- so much so that Andy felt a bout of random epilepsy emerging. Keeping his eyes closed- yet still seeing the purple thundering behind his eyelids, he found that his legs refused to move; The sounds- which had grown progressively louder, had completely paralysed him, ridding his brain from anything that wasn't the heartbeat of the rock.

 

The others seemed to be in the same boat; The yelling had stopped- only to be replaced by choked whimpers and shaking, giving knees- attached to legs that refused to move, despite the desperate, gasped and breathy commands of their owners.

 

A final burst of white light exploded behind their eyelids- coupled with an ear-splitting, high-pitched squeal that sounded eerily like a death scream- and then, everything went dark and perfectly silent.

 

The light was still faint behind their eyelids, and it felt as though their atoms and veins were on fire, and being shocked with electricity simultaneously- but they crooked their eyes open anyway, braving the possibility of coming face to face with terrifying light once again.

 

The only sound that remained in the hole now, was that of panting, and strangled, fearful whimpers.

 

A few moments of shuddering and heavy breathing passed, just before the noises of pained groans and unhappy whines filled the rich, soil-heavy air once again.

 

Eyes opened, and they quickly found that the glow had disappeared. Gone. It was completely gone.

The rock's glow had died away too- only leaving a dull, ordinary boulder where there had once been a beautiful anomaly of nature.

 

Andy had really started doubting himself.

Maybe this had all been a crazy vision. Maybe the lack of social interaction had slowly driven him insane- all his craziness climaxing in this downright _insane_ -

 

"Did I imagine that, or did that actually just happen?"

 

For the first time since Andy had actually met them, Patrick nodded at Pete's question- before actually _agreeing_ with him.

 

"No. That definitely just happened."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"See ya tomorrow."

 

"Bye guys."

 

"Laters."

 

"Bye."

 

As the four boys split off towards their own streets, their voices were dull and deadpan- still exhausted and in shock from what had happened up in that clearing.

 

By the time Andy stepped through his front door, he _still_ hadn't fully processed it. It was as though his brain refused to believe it- as though it doubted what his own eyes had seen.

 

Andy didn't understand.

 

He just didn't understand.

 

There was nothing he could think of that explained _what the hell_ that had been; Nothing he'd studied in biology, or chemistry- or hell, even in that little geology side project he'd taken in middle school- nothing on this earth could explain it.

 

So, there were only two logical reasonings:

 

A. It had never happened. His eyes had lied to his brain. He'd had a vision. He and the others had just had a shared bout of insanity- those were known to happen, after all.

 

Or, B: It wasn't _from_ this earth- and that was why nothing down _here_ , could explain _it_.

 

While the first option seemed the most sensible, the most reasonable, the most logical...Andy knew it wasn't the truth.

He'd seen that clearing lit up with purple. He'd seen tree trunks, leaves and soil lined with their roots and veins. He'd seen that boulder. He'd seen the way it thundered with a pulse. He'd heard the keen it gave. He'd seen the glow fade. He'd heard the sound die. He'd felt as though his veins had been on fire. He'd felt as though every atom that made up his body had been shocked by _lightning_ -

 

"Andrew John Hurley- do you _know_ what time it is?"

 

Shit.

 

His mom.

 

He'd totally forgotten- oh shit, he was supposed to call her. Oh fuck- it was _so_ dark out- _goddamnit_ -

 

"Andy. _Answer me_."

 

With a hunch of his shoulders, Andy blinked up at his mom with a tiny, ashamed grimace. "Yeah, I- I'm sorry mom."

His mom, Ann, was an understanding person. And her lenience, coupled with Andy's sparkling track record, made her furrowed brow, deep frown, and angry stance melt away in a second.

With a heavy sad sigh that made Andy's stomach swirl with guilt, Ann smiled at him gently, before speaking in a much softer tone than before- but that was still laced with disappointment and sadness. " _Where_ _were_ you, sweetheart?"

 

Little known fact: Andy liked his mom's pet names for him. Sure, he'd probably jump out of a window if she ever said them in front of someone else- but he still liked them. They were comforting, somehow; As though they were indicators that there was nothing bad or angry coming his way. Reminders of how much his mom loved him. They always made him feel warm inside.

 

"I was doing my geography project." Andy shuffled his shoes a little as he gave his mom a small, apologetic smile. "We just got kinda carried away, I'm really sorry mom-"

 

"Honey- is that- is that _blood?_ " Her eyes were suddenly flooded with concern as she surged forwards towards her son, hand softly holding his jaw as she surveyed the dried red-brown streaks that were smeared under his nose and in the shells of his ears.

Ann's gaze found her son's as she shook her head with a gaping jaw. "Andy- what happened? Did someone-"

 

"No- it's- I just- I uh- I fell."

 

Her eyes grew watery and she shook her head with a weak, twitchy frown. "Oh sweetheart, _please_ just tell me-"

 

"Mom." Andy clapped his hands on his mom's shoulders, eyes widening at hers reassuringly. "I tripped- there was a pothole and I wasn't being careful. My head hit the ground- I bled a little- but I'm totally fine- I swear, mom."

 

Ann exhaled with a puff of her cheeks, blinking away the wet shimmer that had invaded her eyes as she tried a smile. It calmed Andy down infinitely, and he smiled; And in turn, his smile seemed to calm his mom down _even_ _more_.

 

Andy's hands dropped away, and his mom nodded with her broad, kind smile still in place, before gesturing an easy hand towards the kitchen. "I saved you some dinner- I can heat it up for you, if you'd like"

 

The whole 'glowing rock' fiasco had kinda brutally killed his appetite dead.

 

...But he knew his mom would worry if he said 'no'.

 

 

"Yeah mom, that'd be great. Thanks."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After what had felt like the longest day of his life- and after what had definitely been the most exciting, Andy clattered down to sit on his bed, arms bracketing his thighs as he hunched forwards with a sigh. Fresh from the shower, yawning from the post-dinner haze, and completely clean from dirt, blood, and the smell of fear- which was an actual thing, by the way- Andy was finally ready for bed.

 

He ran a hand over the short, damp strands on his head, closing his eyes and toppling down onto the mattress fully, stomach pressed against the softness and limbs splayed all over the comforter as he sighed into his pillow.

 

He still couldn't believe what had happened.

 

With a deft series of shuffles, Andy squirmed under the covers of his single bed, before curling them around him in a makeshift cocoon. He sniffed, nuzzling into the cold fabric as he bounced a leg, willing his impromptu burrow to heat up soon.

 

His eyes crooked open for a moment, and his gaze quickly found his phone; It was patiently lying on his bedside table- after he'd tossed it there, before retreating to his gravely needed shower.

 

He squinted for a moment; It hadn't buzzed in a while- which was _odd_.

 

'Round about now, Pete would've usually sent them a wall of text, imbued and littered with dumb emojis. It would've been answered by a disgruntled Patrick- who would've made threats of blocking Pete's number- geography project be damned. All before Joe would've stepped in with a neutral topic- or an odd fact, to calm the waters.

 

Reaching a hand out towards the device, Andy's hand curled around the cool metal as he swiped and prodded the screen awake.

 

No messages.

 

It had been a while since he'd seen his screen blank of notifications.

 

He tapped the screen until he'd reached their group chat- aptly named _'The Geography squad™'_ by Pete.

 

The last message had arrived at 3:43pm.

 

 

 

_JoeBoy: On my way._

 

 

 

Andy waited for a few vain moments, some part of him still dazed- while another begged part for another buzz, and for another blue, purple, or orange bubble from either Joe, Pete or Patrick.

 

But alas, none came, and Andy clicked his phone blank with a sigh, before clattering it over onto the bedside table.

Pulling the covers around himself tightly, Andy flipped onto his other side, bringing his knees up to his chest as he sighed quietly- trying to coax sleep into his frazzled mind.

He wanted to put the day to the back of his mind. He wanted to pretend it had never happened- for now at least. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to deny something so impossible- something that made zero sense.

 

 

 

But he could still see the purple glow behind his eyelids.

 

 

 


	3. Folie à Quatre

 

Joe had decided to forget.

 

He was gonna go about his business as though yesterday had never happened, because truthfully, it probably _hadn't_ ; Joe was completely sure it had just been a case of ' _Folie à deux_ ' or rather- a case of shared madness.

Yes, that was the logical explanation, and it was the one Joe was morally inclined to believe; He wasn't easily swayed by the supernatural without cold, hard evidence.

 

And since none had been provided, his theory would remain steadfast: He, Andy, Pete and Patrick had all had a Folie à deux- or rather, a Folie à _quatre_. That was it.

 

Pulling his hoodie over his shoulders and tugging his rucksack onto his shoulder, Joe grabbed his phone from his desk and left his poster-clad bedroom- which was _always_ dark thanks to the thick curtains Joe hardly ever opened.

He paced down the stairs, making a point of keeping his footsteps light as he avoided the weak spots that caused the wood to creak.

 

Joe never had an appetite in the morning- in fact, breakfast before noon usually made him feel sick the whole day.

His parents, however, did not seem to understand that; Every morning, his mom insisted on making bona fide _banquets_. From pancakes, to omelettes, to waffles- every morning, the dinner table in the Trohman house literally looked like the stupidly full table at the start of every movie ever.

 

Every. Damn. Morning.

 

Plates upon plates, jugs upon jugs, and Joe did _not_ want to deal with it.

 

So, a few months prior- after throwing up the entirety of his breakfast one horrific Thursday lunch break, he'd decided to get up an hour earlier than he needed to. Then, he'd stealthily leave the house, and by the time his parents had woken up, he'd be long gone- successfully sparing him from a grotesquely huge breakfast.

 

That had been _the plan_ , anyway.

 

He'd reached the floor, trodding off of the last step before he smiled broadly to himself, as pride flooded every inch of him. He was so sneaky. He should take it up as a career.

With a nod, Joe moved forwards, soldiering his way down the hall that led to the front door- and to _freedom_ , before-

 

His mom, brow furrowed with concern as she jutted out from behind the doorframe. Behind her, Joe could clearly see his dad, brother, and sister, all indulging in stacks of chocolate-smothered pancakes that made Joe inwardly groan.

 

"Joe? Honey, come have your breakfast!"

 

He may have overslept.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over several years of having a petite morning appetite, Joe had learnt some tricks and methods to trick his family into thinking he'd eaten his fill of breakfast.

 

Method one: Cut stuff up. Poke at it a lot. Just make it look really worn out.

 

He was currently employing the tactic with the pancake in front of him, battering it with his fork and bringing blank forkfuls to his mouth every now and then- carefully timing the strokes as he paid attention to his mom's watchful gaze.

 

It wasn't that his mom's cooking was _bad_ \- it was pretty good actually, it was just that Joe's body couldn't properly function until after 11am.

 

Since morning conversation wasn't all that thrilling, and since Joe had found himself blankly gazing with a thousand-yard stare, he'd finally decided to check something much more interesting: his phone.

Yes, he was aware of how awful that sounded, but he'd chalk it down to an angsty teenage phase; A phone was more interesting than his family. Yes, he felt bad, but it was the truth- hearing about his little sister's history project one more time was gonna kill him dead.

 

Settling his phone in his left hand, Joe hid it under the table and let his forearm bracket over his thigh as his eyes scanned over the dead geography group chat.

 

It was odd, but Joe was really... _enjoying_ , working with the other three. Joe had his own friends, like Rory, Alejandro and Jack- but, he just, _liked_ the presence of his geography group.

 

It was like...it was like it _fit_. Like it was always supposed to be that way. Like they were pieces of a puzzle that had been lost for years.

He was sure he'd really enjoy hanging out with them. Anywhere, anytime- and even if they never said a word.

 

It kinda freaked him out.

 

They were _so_ _weird_ , and yet Joe wanted to be friends with them.

It was a true predicament.

Pete was a sports freak- everyone knew that, but not many people knew he also an insomniac who liked sending shitposts at 3am.

Patrick was known as the super-talented, super-nice composer, and while the ginger had been amicable enough to Joe and Andy- he _despised_ Pete. Joe really wondered what Pete had done to him. He must've fucked up colossally for Patrick to hate him _that_ much.

 

And then, there was Andy. The quiet kid that read comics under the red maple tree.

 

Joe had seen him before, he'd heard of him before- but he'd never actually met him.

He was interesting though. Andy had always interested him- and he was smart, _crazy_ smart.

 

Joe wished he could be that studious. He wished he could make his parents proud. Sure his marks were good, but he knew his parents constantly made up excuses for his disappearances to go smoke with his friends. He only got good marks through some weird kind of beginner's luck that had stuck around- he was _completely_ sure of it.

 

But Andy...that guy was smart- _intelligent_ , even.

 

Joe's mouth twitched into a ghost of a frown as his eyes drifted over the dead geography chat. The last message had come in at 3:34, and it was one of Joe's; White words against a blue bubble:

 

 

_JoeBoy: On my way._

 

 

Joe assumed, that since their bout of shared psychosis the night before, everyone had been a little too freaked out to actually talk about the... _event_.

 

The usually buzzing and rapid chat as so still and quiet. It was unnerving.

With another stab at his pancake, and another crumb covered forkful shoved into his mouth, Joe decided _h_ _e'_ _d_ get the ball rolling.

 

_JoeBoy: Hey guys_

 

A few moments of pure silence passed, only interrupted by Joe's thundering pulse and by his incessant lip chewing- a nervous habit, he'd discovered, over time.

And then, as Joe took a sip from a tall glass of orange juice with grimace, he saw a purple bubble join his own. There was no buzz, since Joe had been careful enough to silence his little secret, but he quickly dropped his head, and typed out a quick response to Pete's _extremely_ generic message.

 

_WetePentz: yo dudes_

_WetePentz: every1 good??_

 

_JoeBoy: pretty good, thanks_

_JoeBoy: Andy, Patrick- you guys there?_

 

Another few beats of silence, before yellow and orange stuttered forth timidly.

 

  _Andy: Yep, I'm here. Hey everyone._

 

_PatrickStump: Morning guys._

 

_WetePentz: hows every1s mornings?? did you all eat??_

 

_PatrickStump: Ew, why are you asking if we ate, that's so creepy._

 

_WetePentz: just makin' sure the squad isn't gonna die of saturation_

_WetePentz: i cant remember the word but i tried_

 

Joe's lips quirked into a smile; Things were really going back to normal- and with little to no effort. He was unspeakably relieved as he decided to interject with one of his odd, random facts, just to defuse the bickering that had _already_ started.

 

  _JoeBoy: Asking people if they ate is a custom in Korea, true story_

 

_Andy: Because of the famine, right? After the war, in the 60s/70s_

 

_JoeBoy: Exactamundo._

 

_WetePentz: aw you nerds_

_WetePentz: and ur facts about korea aw_

 

_PatrickStump: Think before you type._

_PatrickStump: Please._

 

_WetePentz: no u_

 

_PatrickStump: Ugh._

 

_WetePentz: also, what are we doing today??_

_WetePentz: we gotta get info on lakes and shit right??_

 

A chill shuddered over Joe's spine. His teeth chattered and his skin prickled uncomfortably; It was the first time the project had been mentioned since...It had been shared psychosis. That was all. Pete was right- they had a job to do, and there was no harm in asking what the next step was.

 

_JoeBoy: We should go to the library_

_JoeBoy: Or meet up at somebody's house._

 

_PatrickStump: No offence guys, but I kinda have rehearsal tonight._

 

_WetePentz: ughhh u always have rehearsal_

_WetePentz: dont we matter too?? youve been neglecting me for too long jerry, i want a divorce_

 

_PatrickStump: What the actual fuck are you talking about?_

 

_WetePentz: ur such a theatre kid god_

 

_PatrickStump: Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?_

 

_WetePentz: you can never (Cross Mark )(Face With No Good Gesture ≊ Gesturing No)take a break(Weary Face )because tech week(Performing Arts )(Musical Score )the grind(Flexed Biceps )(Splashing Sweat Symbol ≊ Sweat Droplets)never stops(Exclamation Question Mark )(Face With No Good Gesture ≊ Gesturing No)until the tickets(Performing Arts )(Ticket )are sold(Heavy Dollar Sign )_

 

_PatrickStump: Fuck off._

 

_WetePentz: Sorry (Peace Symbol )(Waving Hand Sign ≊ Waving Hand)sir(Person With Blond Hair )this is a christian (Latin Cross )(Person With Folded Hands ≊ Folded Hands)server(Video Game ). So no(Face With No Good Gesture ≊ Gesturing No)(Face With No Good Gesture ≊ Gesturing No)swearing(Angry Face )(No One Under Eighteen Symbol ≊ No One Under Eighteen)(Face With Look Of Triumph ) Stop (Clock Face Four Oclock ≊ Four O’Clock)(Clock Face Four Oclock ≊ Four O’Clock)(Clock Face Four Oclock ≊ Four O’Clock)swearing(Cross Mark )(Face With Look Of Triumph )or you (Dizzy Symbol ≊ Dizzy)(Fire )(Fire )will be (Negative Squared Latin Capital Letter B ≊ B Button)anned(Angry Face )(Pouting Face )(Face With Look Of Triumph )_

 

_PatrickStump: If you don't stop typing like that, I'm gonna leave._

 

_WetePentz: ok daddy_

 

_PatrickStump: I hate you._

 

_Andy: Okay. So._

_Andy: Library after school?_

 

_JoeBoy: I'll be there._

 

_WetePentz: same_

 

_PatrickStump:...Fine. I'll make an excuse._

 

Joe sniffed, nose wrinkling at the smell of the distressed pancake on his plate as he glanced it up and down with a grimace; Tattered, ripped and just plain destroyed- no longer suitable for consumption by a human being, he was pretty certain about that.

With shifty eyes, Joe glanced around at his family; His dad, brother and sister were avidly eating pancakes, whilst his mom ate granola- of all the amazing things that sat on the table. You could've had waffles, but no- _granola_.

They were chatting with smiles that were way too bright for 7am, and the exchange was a lot more tame and friendly that the one sending his phone into a frenzy, with frantic flashes of orange, yellow and purple flooding his screen.

 

Joe's gaze flicked over to the kitchen door. White, glass panels, modern and aesthetically pleasing. It was all that separated Joe from his daily dose of weed.

 

Over many years of french-exiting breakfasts with his family, Joe had learnt that the best way to do it was to just grab your bag, yell your thanks and speed out of the room; Give them no time to convince you to stay with coffee, give them no chance to offer you another syrup-smothered pancake, give them no opportunity to ask you if you've got your homework ready. Fluster them with the suddenness of your disappearance, only give them enough time to yell 'I love you' and 'Have a good day'.

 

So, following his own, carefully-structured method, Joe leapt out of his seat, ripping his bag out from under the table and letting it fly behind him as he bolted out of the room with a yell of-

 

"Thanks for the pancakes mom!"

 

The only thing he heard before the front door slammed behind him was- "Oh- Have a good day, sweetie- I love you!"

 

With a puff of his cheeks- coupled with a sigh, Joe tapped his phone to life once more, before he quickly typed out a little status update to defuse the current bickering session- that was about _pigeons_ of all things.

 

_JoeBoy: Omw to school. Gonna smoke at bleachers, if anyone needs me._

 

_WetePentz: whoa. joe._

_WetePentz: you never told me u smoked weed_

 

_JoeBoy: Yeah?? I thought everyone knew??_

 

_PatrickStump: He does know. He's just being an idiot._

 

_WetePentz: joe...this is such a surprise_

 

_JoeBoy: Ok…_

 

_WetePentz: joe?_

 

_JoeBoy: yeah?_

 

_WetePentz: D i d (Black Question Mark Ornament ≊ Question Mark) I (White Left Pointing Backhand Index ≊ Backhand Index Pointing Left) e v e r t e l l (Mouth )(White Right Pointing Backhand Index ≊ Backhand Index Pointing Right) y o u  I (White Left Pointing Backhand Index ≊ Backhand Index Pointing Left) l i k e  v a p o r (Hot Springs ) w a v e (Water Wave ) Happy 420 you STONER SKANK(Nail Polish )!!! While y'all(Dash Symbol ≊ Dashing)(Dash Symbol ≊ Dashing)smonking(Dash Symbol ≊ Dashing)(Dash Symbol ≊ Dashing)the(Smiling Face With Horns )devil's(Smiling Face With Horns )(Four Leaf Clover )lettuce(Four Leaf Clover )and celebrating(No Entry Sign ≊ Prohibited)HITLER'S(No Entry Sign ≊ Prohibited)(Birthday Cake )(Birthday Cake )(Birthday Cake )birthday(Birthday Cake )on(Extraterrestrial Alien ) 4/20 (Extraterrestrial Alien ) I'll be catching up on my (Church )(Latin Cross ) BIBLE STUDIES (Latin Cross )(Church )and(Flexed Biceps ) strengthening (Flexed Biceps )my(Kiss Mark )(Beating Heart )relationship(Beating Heart )(Kiss Mark )with the (Latin Cross )(Rainbow ) LORD AND SAVIOR (Rainbow )(Latin Cross )_

 

_JoeBoy: lmao_

 

_PatrickStump has left the chat!_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe's face hurt.

 

Apparently, the universe really had it out for him today; He'd been hit by a heavy object approximately _seventeen_ times today- and it was only 3pm.

 

The first time had been on his way to English; He'd been inadvertently punched in the face by a wildly gesturing boy who'd been telling a seemingly riveting story. The kid had been super apologetic, reeling off panicky ' _I'm so sorry_ 's, as Joe cradled his newly bleeding nose.

 

The second had been on his way to Chemistry, as he'd been walking past the sports equipment storeroom; A soccer ball had hit him square in the jaw, sending him and his books sprawling against a wall. The kid who'd kicked the ball had only mumbled a quick sorry with a grimace, before he'd sped away with his ball- trying to get well away from any teachers that may have witnessed the goddamn _assault_.

 

The other fifteen times had been oddly similar, and needless to say, Joe was aching all over- although, his ribs were really the biggest victims here. He had no doubt they were red, blue and splotchy under his shirt after all the abuse they'd endured, at the hands of wandering feet, fists and _objects_.

 

Joe's hood was firmly over his head as he left Music, and his grumpy gaze was decidedly on his phone before-

 

"Joe! Hey, wait a sec-"

 

With a glance over his shoulder, Joe's sneakers squeaked against the varnish ground as he stuttered to a stop, and he noticed Patrick among the crowds leaving the Music room.

With a few grunts and grimaces, Patrick squeezed his way through the stampede, before reaching Joe and giving him a polite smile. "Hey Patrick-" Joe's brow suddenly furrowed as he smiled back, "I didn't know you took music."

 

Wait. No- that was stupid, fuck.

 

Everyone knew Patrick Stump was a music extraordinaire- of course he'd be taking music you fucking-

 

"Yeah, I need it for college."

 

Joe nodded slowly, ridiculously glad Patrick hadn't called him out for the dumb question, before the taller boy motioned his head over towards the steady filling hallway, "D'you wanna walk to the library?"

Patrick nodded, smile broadening a little, but as soon as they'd set off, a loud groan rang from the ginger.

 

Joe chuckled to himself; _Pete_ , he assumed.

 

The smaller boy said nothing however, only clearing his throat and adverting his gaze as they soldiered through packs and masses of people.

They paced through the math department, gazes sweeping over a few kids who strutted with easy smiles as they radiated confidence. Joe assumed they'd passed a pop quiz or something.

His eyes drifted over towards kids staring down at complex equations hastily scribbled down in notepads, all while tears rolled down their red cheeks. Joe assumed _those_ hadn't.

 

"Uh- hey- Joe- Patrick-" The words were a little awkward and stuttered, but were spoken in a high, calling voice- and were quickly followed by the appearance of Andy; The boy had drifted up to Patrick's side, smiling a greeting over at the other two.

 

"Hey dude."

 

"Hey Andy."

 

And with three nods, and the unspoken agreement of heading for the library, the trio kept making their way forwards.

As they finally left the main school building, they walked in comfortable silence, only exchanging a few laughs at any odd sights before Joe noticed something... _shiny_ on Patrick's cheekbone- and now that he really looked, Andy's nose looked a little _red_.

 

"Patrick- what's up with your face?" Joe's furrowed brow shifted over to Andy, "And, Andy, s'your nose okay?"

 

The only redhead raised an eyebrow before his eyes cleared in realization- but Andy was already miles ahead, answering with a light, timid shrug and a voice laced with forced, self-depreciating laughter that Joe didn't appreciate at all; Someone as smart as Andy had no business putting themselves down.

 

"Oh I just- It was dumb- _I_ was dumb-" At Joe's flash of something unrecognisable, Andy gulped and shrugged again- a little harder this time. "I got hit in the face with a tennis racket."

 

He'd only given a slow nod before Patrick had added his two cents. "I got kicked in the face by accident."

 

"How do you get _kicked in the face?_ "

 

" _By accident_."

 

The three let out amused puffs of laughter, before their phones buzzed simultaneously, like wasps trapped in their pockets. Dropping their heads to their screens, they fished their phones towards their gazes and let out a collective groan at the new purple message in the group chat.

 

 

_WetePentz: cant make it to the library yet, need like 20 mins but u can come wait if u want. Im at the bball field._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The trio stomped down the steep hill that led towards the field- and away from the school. They chatted idly, and generally about random, interesting topics- although much of the conversation _was_ just Patrick complaining about Pete's lack of trustworthiness; By the way the ginger spoke, anyone would've assumed Pete had murdered his entire family and had stolen all his money.

 

As the caged baseball field came into view, they glanced over to the dusty, tawny pitch, that sat just behind the metal fence. Past the glinting light that angled perfectly into their eyes, with the sole intention of totally blinding them- they could just about spot a figure, batting away baseballs that fired towards them from a calculated pitcher machine.

 

Clad in an odd combination the school's baseball _and_ soccer uniforms- mainly, the crimson soccer jersey- whilst everything from the waist down was decidedly baseball- Pete swung his bat with a grunt at each stroke. A satisfying clack rang out against the quietness, as baseballs would fire away against- and sometimes _over_ , the fence.

A royal blue baseball cap was tugged down over his eyes- and a matching sports bandage was wrapped around his right knee tightly, bright against white, dirt grimy breeches, knee length navy socks that were even filthier, and extremely worn out, dusty, and unlaced sneakers.

 

Something about the way his shoulders tensed, something about the almost _frustrated_ grunts that escaped him, and something about the seriousness of the text earlier gave Joe an uneasy feeling.

 

Something was up with Pete- something was wrong.

 

Andy and Patrick seemed to have sensed the same. They all glanced between each other with worried smiles and bobbing Adam's apples, before they kept soldiering forwards stubbornly, until they finally reached the metal boundary.

 

Pete was so caught up in his vigorous batting that he didn't notice the trio standing at the fence.

 

So, Joe, with a _slight_ air of trepidation, linked his right hand's fingers into the metal's gaps, before shaking the fence quickly. The disturbance echoed along the whole gate like a pebble's ripple in a lake, and it had _worked_ ; The sound and the movement had finally caught Pete's attention.

 

The dark-haired boy jumped out of the firing line of the pitching machine, before running over towards it and shutting it off- all while he gave periodic glances up towards the trio.

When he finally paced over towards them, an easy- yet somehow forced, smile had settled on his face, replacing the angry snarl that had been there mere moments before they'd arrived.

 

"Hey guys! Sorry- I was just catching up on some stuff."

 

The shadow of the cap's bill cast a shadow over Pete's features, but under the dark blanket, Joe could just about spot-

 

"Holy shit Pete- are those bruises, what the hell did you _do?_ "

 

Pete- who's face was littered with purple, red and black splotches- only laughed sheepishly, picking at his white taped fingers and wrists, before lifting his gaze with a tiny grimace.

 

"I was practising dodging."

 

Joe blinked, Andy blinked, and Patrick spluttered a loud laugh.

Pete only rolled his eyes with a rueful grin, before nodding them over through the fence's hatch. Patrick was still giggling at Pete's misfortune as they crossed over from concrete into dry dirt, painted with white lines that marked out a clear pitch.

 

"I just- I need like, five more minutes- if you guys don't mind-"

 

"It's cool dude." Joe nodded with a smile and leant back against the fence, hands shoving in his pockets. Andy followed his lead, sparing Pete a kind smile as he took a place next to Joe.

 

Patrick however.

 

"Wait, so- you- essentially- got beat up by a machine?"

 

Pete rolled his eyes as he leant down to fetch his bat up from the ground again. "No. I'm fine with the machine- I just-" He sighed, tapping a toe against the dirt idly and puffing up a cloud of dirst, as he tried to escape Patrick's amused gaze with a shrug and a duck of his head. "I've been bad with _human_ pitchers lately, I dunno."

The ginger tilted his head, "So, what's the point of the machine then?" Pete only sighed, but Patrick only pressed harder. "If you suck with human pitchers- then get a human pitcher. It's not rocket science, Pete."

 

" _You_ do it then."

 

Pete's snap was devoid of any amusement now.

All it held was- in Joe's opinion, well founded irritation, and _anger_ at being repeatedly mocked. He stared Patrick down with shadowy eyes, and the ginger tried to hide his wince, only clearing his throat and shrugging. "I don't play sports, I just-"

 

Well this was painful to watch.

 

Joe tore his gaze away from the super awkward exchange and glanced over at Andy instead.

 

Andy was a little stereotypical in some respects, and then, _not_ , in others; The undercut was a pretty good start.

 

Okay, so it wasn't _really_ an undercut, it was just a little shorter on the sides, but _still_. _Not_ something a traditional nerd would have.

And while Joe wasn't completely sure, he could've sworn he'd seen some _ink_ under Andy's _sleeve_ at the forest-

 

Thinking about the forest made him feel sick. Sicker than the thought of an early breakfast.

 

As for what _was_ nerdy about Andy: The one pair of worn sneakers, the baggy hoodie, the glasses, the comics, the geeky pins on his bag, and the Star Wars shirt- _definitely_ _were_.

 

Huh. Star Wars. Joe hadn't noticed that before- had Andy ever mentioned anything about it? He hoped he hadn't; Joe hated forgetting those tiny details that made a person.

 

"You uh- you like Star Wars?"

 

Andy only gave him a blank stare, before speaking in one of the most deadpan voices Joe had ever heard.

 

 

"I don't think you're ready for this conversation."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick wasn't a good pitcher. Not at all.

 

That had become pretty evident in the first two minutes of him trying- and failing, to pitch for Pete.

 

Joe and Andy only spluttered stifled chortles at the weak, low and just plain _badly-aimed_ throws- but Pete was much less subtle.

 

He'd laugh loudly, tip his head back, scrabble at his ribs. His eye corners would crinkle, there'd be tears at the seams, and his mocking, Cheshire Cat grin would only make Patrick _more_ _furious_ with each passing second.

 

For being so tiny, the redhead was seemingly _not_ a force to be reckoned with.

 

He'd started rolling his shoulders, his eyes had narrowed into a venomous glare, he watched Pete with nothing but fury, and his knuckles whitened around the baseball in his hand.

 

 

The kid was competitive.

 

 

"Alright- are you gonna stop being an idiot and just get ready?!"

 

Pete sighed out his final laugh, before pacing over to home plate again and giving his bat a test swing, before nodding with a confident huff and an even cockier smile.

 

Obviously, Patrick's inaptitude and subsequent humiliation had really put a spring in Pete's step.

 

With a steady, deep exhale, Patrick cupped both hands around the grimy, white, red-stitched baseball, before digging his heels into the earth stubbornly- all as he stared Pete down from under the brim of his red cap.

 

"D'you think he's gonna do it?"

 

Joe glanced over at Andy, lightly quirking an eyebrow. The other boy's face scrunched up in thought, and a slow smile spread over Joe's face at the sight. "I think-" Andy stroked a beard that wasn't there, all while keeping his intent stare on the perpetually-giggling Pete, and on Patrick- who was dragging his foot back against the dirt like a bull.

 

"He's pissed."

 

Joe nodded, fully understanding the gravity the words held. "I agree."

 

 

Patrick seemed to be one of those people, that when sufficiently pissed off- could do great things. Like murder. Or pitch really well. Either one- or, _both_ even.

 

 

With a final, deep exhale, that was paired with a momentary screw of his eyes, Patrick's gaze snapped up to Pete like a mousetrap- before Patrick pulled his hand back and threw the ball _perfectly_.

 

The shock of Patrick's deft throw- along with the flinch at the furious grunt that came with it- froze Pete on the spot, shoulders hunching and preparing for the harsh impact, as his body forgot it could actually _move_.

 

And just as Joe was sure the boy would end up with yet _another_ black eye- the ball stopped.

 

The ball stopped.

 

The ball stopped... _in front of Pete's face_.

 

The ball stopped in front of Pete's face.

 

Wait.

 

The ball fucking _stopped_. In front of Pete's fucking _face_.

 

That wasn't normal. Right?

 

It was hovering over his fucking face- completely paralysed and suspended in the air.

 

Truthfully, Joe had forgotten what was normal at this point.

 

He couldn't believe his eyes. And by the way Andy's, Patrick's- and hell, even _Pete's_ jaws hung open- he was pretty sure _they_ couldn't believe it either.

 

The fragment of a startled, panicky and desperate whimper shattered out from Pete's throat, and as his eyes tore away from the ball for a moment- it dropped to the floor with a painful thud.

 

They were all frozen.

 

Joe and Andy still leaning against the fence, legs rigid and faces lax.

 

Patrick was still weak limbed and gaping, all rage had melted away in a mere second.

 

And Pete….Pete's eyes rolled into the back of his head, before he clattered to the floor with another, painful thud.

 

 

Well.

 

 

That was cold hard evidence if Joe had ever seen it.

 

 

 


	4. Down With The Bourgeoisie

 

"Pete- Pete, can you hear me?"

 

Pete's eyes blinked open slowly, spiking with the sudden light that blinded them and made them itch. His head felt as heavy and thick as treacle as he gave a cracked groan, and as he came to, he finally made out three blurry figures looming over him.

He cocked his head, squinting as he willed his vision to sharpen. One last blink, and Pete saw the trio clearly; Patrick, Joe and Andy. Faces plastered in worry and pure shock.

 

Pete's brow furrowed.

 

What the hell had happened? How the fuck had he-

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

**OH.**

 

_The baseball_ \- shit, no wonder they looked so spooked.

Forcing himself to sit up, Pete rubbed at his aching temples and he pushed himself off of the dusty ground. He sniffed, before- the smell of iron was strong, and it was making him feel a little sick, god-

 

Two fingers dabbed at his nose, and Pete had found the source; He was having a nosebleed- a pretty heavy one, actually.

 

Pete merely wiped his nose with the back of his wrist as he jumped up to his feet, and quirking an eyebrow when the other three scurried back a little.

 

"Uh- you guys okay?"

 

Joe, Andy and Patrick all glanced at each other nervously, eyes wide and pleading, jaws still a little slack, and shoulders bowed and catious.

 

"Do- do you remember the-?"

 

Pete nodded eagerly, a slow grin spreading on his face.

This was so fucking cool! He couldn't believe it- shit he really hoped this wasn't a dream right now.

 

But if it techincally... _was_ a dream.

 

He glanced over at Patrick.

 

The possibilites were _endless_ \- oh fuck- nope, his face hurt _like hell_ \- he was definitely awake.

 

Despite his urge to run around, scream and do fifty backflips, Pete calmed himself down as his gaze swept over the nervous, jittery trio; He really didn't wanna freak them out.

 

"Yeah...I do."

 

"D-Did you- did you- _know_ \- you-"

 

" _No_ , dude. I didn't know I could make baseballs float, like-"

 

Patrick cut the words off with a loud groan and a dramatic eye roll; Seemingly, all the fear at Pete's freaky abilities had completely disappeared. Joe let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair as his eyes turned glassy.

 

Andy however. Andy only furrowed his brow, eyes narrowing and mouth pulling tight as nothing but business flooded him completely.

 

Andy was prepared

 

Pete assumed reading an unhealthy amount of comic books about this very scenario had given him all the essential information he needed.

 

The boy glanced over at Joe and Patrick- who were in varying degrees of shock and horror. Oh, _and irritation_ \- this was Patrick they were talking about.

 

"Okay." Andy looked as though he'd been born ready for this. Hands splayed, voice firm yet calming, and every inch of him exuding pure wisdom. "First things first, we gotta figure this out."

 

Patrick scoffed, throwing his hands up in a vain gesture, before he hitched his bag over his shoulder and stalked away with a dark string of mutters- making a furious beeline for the gate, before-

 

 

"YOU COULD HAVE IT TOO."

 

 

Patrick stopped. Patrick turned. Patrick looked fucking terrified.

 

Andy only exhaled shakily, glancing over at Pete for a moment before sharing his trustworthy gaze between the other three. "I think…" A shaky exhale, a fleeting blare of panic.

 

"I think this is because of that rock."

 

Patrick gasped breathlessly, eyes shooting wide to the sizes of full moons.

 

Patrick looked down at his trembling hands.

 

Patrick gagged.

 

Patrick's eyes rolled back into his head.

 

 

Patrick passed out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Patrick?"

  
Pete watched over Patrick's lax, blacked out features with soft eyes, scanning for any signs of life as he tried to ignore all the crazy shit that'd just happened. Pete shook Patrick's shoulder gently, a small smile flourishing on his face at Patrick's sleeping face; He looked like an angel when he was asleep. Flawless, peaceful, and just plain _content_. Pete had always liked wa-

 

"Patrick, c'mon buddy- can you hear me?"

 

The ginger groaned, batting Pete's hand away with a violent paw of his hand. " _Shuddup_."

 

Pete could only muster a quiet laugh as he bounced to his feet, before offering a helpful hand down towards him- which Patrick merely glared at.

With a tense laugh, a tiny grimace and a sad spike in his chest, Pete withdrew his hand and stepped back as Patrick pushed himself to his feet with a grunt.

 

Andy looked between them, and Andy sighed. _Heavily_.

 

"Okay- so- could everyone stop fainting?"

 

Pete, Joe and Patrick gave sheepish shrugs, before Andy continued with a sigh. "We need to figure out... _two_ things. For now." Three quirked eyebrows, and Andy only shook his head, counting his points off on his fingers.

 

 

"What we can do, and how we can control it."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Are you sure-"

 

"Dude."

Pete sighed as he glanced over at Joe with lidded eyes and a deadpan voice. "It's fine. My parents aren't home, so, Hillary'll be out with her friends- and Andrew'll just be...I dunno, _jerkin' off_ or something."

Pete ignored Patrick's wrinkled nose and just kept pacing forwards as he led the others home.

 

They'd opted to go somewhere more private to find out _what the fuck had just happened_ \- as opposed to staying on the baseball field, which would've left them open to all kinds of prying eyes. They really did not want to get spotted and found out.

 

And besides, if Pete really _did_ have superpowers he did _not_ want to get locked up by the government.

 

As they paced along the route to Pete's house, the huge structure finally came into view, and as though on cue, the first indignant- _yet slightly impressed_ , gasp rang out.

 

" _That's_ your house?"

 

Pete only shrugged with a nod.

 

He didn't think his house was all that special...but, at the same time- he'd lived there so long that it was just _ordinary_ to him now; Huge, sprawling and even with a few bona fide turrets, that were paved with full-length clear crystal windows. A green yard littered with huge healthy trees, flowers and bushes. Sandy tan brick, slate roofs, and even a shallow tunnel that led into the parking spaces.

 

Yes.

 

There were parking spaces.

 

_...In their defense_ , Pete's family owned a lot of cars. And goddamnit, they needed somewhere to put them.

 

"That's not a house- that's a fucking castle, are you kidding me?"

 

It wasn't a castle. Joe was just dramatic.

 

… _More like a_ _mansion_ , if you asked Pete-

 

He hurried forwards, the soles of his dusty Converse his mom always tried to give away crunching over the gravel that lined the driveway of his home. Hopping past the white fence and up the few front steps, Pete reached the elaborate white doorframe- in which sat nestled a pair of chestnut double doors. He fished his key from his pocket, jostling the door open before nodding the other three into the house with a small smile.

 

The inside was fancier.

 

White walls, stairs, high ceilings, huge windows, a fireplace, a screen tv that took up an entire wall, really elaborate and very expensive art. It was pretty cool, Pete supposed.

He glanced over his shoulder; Gaping mouths, wide eyes, furrowed brows. Pure inspiration and shock. Well, only from Joe and Andy.

Patrick's features were only painted with a sad smile as he looked around, memories no doubt flashing before his eyes like blurred ghosts. A sad smile settled on Pete's lips too; It had been so long since Patrick-

 

Joe and Andy made strangled noises of shock as they found the _fuckhuge_ kitchen; All white marble, stainless steel and rich wooden cabinets.

 

Pete thought they were overreacting a little.

 

"Holy shit- this is just _unfair_."

 

"How is it unfair?"

 

Joe only stared back at him with dull eyes and a voice to match.

 

 

"Down with the bourgeoisie."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, are you ready?"

 

In hindsight, Pete wasn't sure this had been the best idea.

 

He'd been pelted in the face enough for today, and to be truthful, he didn't actually know _how_ he'd stopped that baseball.

So, as Joe stood opposite him and a few meters away, baseball in hand and... _worrying_ smile on his face, Pete was really regretting his enabling behaviour up to this point.

In answer to Joe's question, Pete only nodded, soles shifting in the grass of his- as the others had pointed out, ' _unnecessarily gigantic backyard_ '. Lined and sheltered by trees, well kept bushes, bright flowers, and even a pool.

 

...Okay, they had a point.

 

He still thought they were being fuckin' drama queens, but whatever.

 

Joe tossed the ball gently in his hand, before reeling back and sending it flying towards Pete.

 

_Crack_.

 

The dark-haired boy only flinched and yelped as the ball hit him square in the nose, and as his knees gave, he curled up on the grass as his hands pressed over his red face.

 

"Shit- are you good dude?"

 

Joe and Andy had jogged over- while Patrick smothered laughter behind his hand. Dick. The duo's eyes were wide and concerned, but Pete only glared.

 

" _You_ next, asshole."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Why are we filming this?"

 

"Evidence dude." Pete squinted at the camera, poking at buttons idly until a grin spread over his face like melted butter. With a nod and a beam to the camera, Pete bounced away and back towards the other three- who were littered with even more bruises than they had been at the start of this really messed up game.

 

So far, nobody had been able to stop the baseball again.

 

"We gotta document this shit. Write reports and all that."

Andy huffed quietly but ultimately nodded, "He's right. We need to keep track of this." Pete made a small happy noise at the praise as he scooped up the fateful baseball from where it lay in the grass- smeared with red, having just hit Joe square in the nose.

 

"Whatever, this still feels like the start of a weird porno."

 

They all glanced over at Joe, brows furrowed and noses wrinkled. Joe only quirked an eyebrow.

 

"No? Just me? Okay."

 

"What kind of porn do you watch that starts like _this?_ "

 

"No- _I_ don't-"

 

"I'm kinkshaming."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, who's next?"

 

All eyes moved to Patrick.

 

"Oh no. You can all fuck off."

 

The redhead had only been subjected to the baseball _once_ so far, and goddamnit- that wasn't fair. The others had suffered way too much for Patrick to just get away with having a shiny, un-bruised, not somehow bleeding, face.

 

"C'mon Patrick- it'll be quick, you won't even _feel_ it-"

 

"Don't you dare."

 

Patrick took a step back. Pete took one forwards.

 

His bright, huge grin lingered like a promise as his fingers twitched around the ball, eager with the instinct to throw it as hard as he could- and directly at somebody's face. Patrick only shook his head, more and more panic flooding into his system with every breath he took.

 

"Paaatrickkk-"

 

"Fuck you-"

 

" _Paaaaaatrickkkkkk_ -"

 

"LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU-"

 

" _Paaattycaaaakes_ -"

 

"FUCK OFF- _AH_ -"

 

Patrick flinched backwards violently as the ball flew towards him, but just before it collided with his flawlessly pale cheekbone that was _definitely_ lacking in the suffering™ department-

 

The baseball stopped.

 

Patrick trembled, eyes wide and lips shaky as he struggled to make any noise other than whimpers- all as the ball hovered ahead of him.

 

"Holy shit."

 

"Oh my god."

 

"Fuck, that's SO cool!"

 

Patrick only gave a tiny whimper, and as his gaze broke away- the ball clattered to the grass. The redhead looked unstable as he swayed slightly, knees trembling and soles shaking- all before his nose started cascading red.

 

"Shit-"

 

"Dude-"

 

Pete said nothing, only lurching forwards in an attempt to help- before he was quickly glared back by Patrick; The ginger only wiped his nose with his sweater's sleeve, exhaling shakily and glancing between the other three.

 

With a fleeting stare at the ginger, Pete looked down at the baseball.

 

He needed to do it again. He needed to prove it to himself.

Sure, Patrick could do it, _good for him_ \- but, Pete _needed_ to.

 

He had an urge, a desire, a will- something that _burned_ inside of him, making his skin and... _specifically_ his left hand, burn like a forest fire that raged across the expanse of his nerves.

 

He glanced back up to Patrick.

 

The ginger was staring at his...hand.

 

Huh.

 

Pete furrowed his brow, glancing over his shoulder- and quickly realizing Joe and Andy looked just as terrified.

 

_Huh_.

 

Pete looked down at his hand.

 

It was on fire.

 

Okay.

 

Cool.

 

Don't freak out.

 

Stay calm.

 

Your hand's on fire.

 

Chill.

 

Your skin is literally covered in flames.

 

Don't worry. It's gonna be fine, it's all gonna be o-

 

"WHAT THE FUCK-"

 

"STAY CALM-"

 

"THIS FREAKY BULLSHIT- I DIDN'T FUCKING _WANT_ THIS BULLSHIT-"

 

"EVERYBODY STAY FUCKING CALM."

 

"HOW DO YOU WANT ME TO STAY CALM, ANDY? HIS HAND. IS. ON. **_FIRE_** -"

 

"STAY FUCKING CALM JOE-"

 

Pete was perfectly silent as he brought his hand up to his face, staring at it with slightly widened, mildly interested eyes.

Some part of him was freaking out right now- but it was seriously smothered under every other part that just insisted everything was _fine_.

 

His hand was on fire.

 

It didn't hurt.

 

This was pretty cool- Oh! He was like that dude from Fantastic Four! Oh shit- ' _Flame on_ '- wicked-

 

Hang on.

 

Fuck.

 

...He hoped he could turn it off. Otherwise, that would make...' _alone time_ ' really tricky.

 

Pete glanced over his shoulder to see three hysterical boys; Practically jumping up and down, stumbling around, screaming, gagging, crying- all three were on the edge of nervous breakdowns, Pete was sure of it.

 

And it was up to Pete to calm them down.

 

"Hey- hey guys- you guys-"

 

"WHAT."

 

Pete only grinned.

 

 

 

"It's lit."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, uh- _Day one_ , I guess-"

 

"You're such a wannabe vlogger."

 

"I'm living my youtube life- don't judge me, lunchbox."

 

Patrick bristled at the old nickname, only sparing a scoff to cover it up. Pete smiled. It had been a really long time since-

 

"So, anyway-" Andy shuffled into the camera's view next to Pete, notepad covered in methodical scribbles in his hand. "So far, all subjects display signs of telekinesis-"

 

"Subjects?" Joe's nose wrinkled dramatically as he took Pete's other side, bracing his forearms forwards on the smooth wood of Pete's hugeass dinner table. "We're not lab rats, Andy. C'mon-"

 

"Okay, okay-" Andy sighed and put his notebook down with a thwack. He looked at the camera with pure sincerity. "So far all of us show signs of telekinesis. It is an alleged psychic ability allowing a person to influence a physical system without physical interaction-"

 

"Okay, calm down, Dewey Decimal."

 

Andy only squinted at Pete. "...That's what libraries use to-"

 

"Oxford?" Pete glanced wildly between the other three, who were currently perpetually confused as to _what the fuck_ Pete was saying.

 

 

"Wait, who makes the dictionaries again?"

 

 

"The best jokes take explaining, as we all know." Patrick said in a sarcastically cheery voice as he slid into the viewfinder's range, taking a seat next to Andy. Andy only sighed, trying his thoroughly thought-out explanation once again.

"As I was saying, we all show signs of telekinesis. Pete, however, seems to show signs of _pyro_ kinesis-"

 

"If you hogged all the superpowers for yourself, I'm gonna be so mad."

 

"Ahahah, first come first served, Trohman."

 

Andy sighed.

 

"Once again- Pete seems to show signs of-"

 

"Why's your camera so fancy anyways, Pete?"

 

All these interruptions were making Andy steadily lose his mind.

 

"I take photography- dad wanted me to have good equipment."

 

"You take _photography?_ "

 

"Yup."

 

"How much _was_ it-? Looks crazy expensive dude-"

 

"Like, five k."

 

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME."

 

"I COULD FEED MY CHILDREN WITH THAT-"

 

"lol."

 

"Don't say 'lol' out loud, Pete-"

 

"lmao, nice one Patrick."

 

 

"AS I WAS SAYING."

 

 

Andy spared them each a firm look, before continuing his brief with a sharp exhale that warned all others to shut the hell up.

 

"We all show the ability of telekinesis. Pete seems to have _pyrokinesis_ \- the purported psychic ability allowing a person to create and control fire with the mind. However- and after further testing, we have not determined any other unnatural abilities- belonging either to Pete, or to the rest of us."

 

"Heh- heh heh-"

 

Pete's breathy laughs were followed by pure silence as Patrick's face dropped; Blank, dead and in pure horror.

 

"Pete."

 

"Yeah Patrick?" The dark-haired boy cocked his head over at Patrick, a charming, easy smile on his face.

...Before it slowly slipped away as Patrick turned towards him with a robotic, silently furious air about him.

 

 

"Why am I seeing _a meme_ in my head?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"We also show signs of telepathy-"

 

"This is a nightmare. I wanna wake up."

 

Patrick's depressed words were muffled as his face lay flat on the table.

 

Pete was only giggling like a madman- eyes crinkled, beam wide, and bright teeth on show, as he rocked back and forth in his chair, clutching his ribs, stomach and sides with silent laughter.

 

Joe only looked mildly amused- despite it being tinged with horror and disbelief.

 

 

Andy was really the only one qualified to deal with the situation.

 

 

"If one of us thinks of something- and pictures _it_ and the person it _goes_ to _clearly_ -"

 

"IT WASN'T EVEN A GOOD MEME- IT WAS A CAVEMAN SPONGEBOB MEME, ARE YOU SERIOUS PETE-"

 

"It was art- you shut your mouth, Pattycakes."

 

Andy was tired.

 

"Then the other receives the image."

 

"Oh god- I'm gonna shitpost so hard- I'm gonna shitpost... _internally_."

 

Patrick had started sobbing.

 

Joe, however, was laughing- as Pete started concentrating on really long, elaborate copypastas that Andy could see in his head- despite them being so blurry they were almost unreadable. Almost. Andy could make out _a lot_ of eggplant emojis.

 

As the sounds started culminating in Patrick screaming for the sweet embrace of death, Andy decided it was time to end this particular video journal- before things _really_ got out of hand.

 

"We will continue further testing, but for now, we'll work on keeping our newfound abilities a secret- and on treating them with _caution_ and _respect-_ "

 

"THAT WAS A SALT BAE MEME- YOU JUST SENT ME A SALT BAE MEME- FUCK YOU-"

 

"Oh lord, I am gonna use and _abuse_ this power."

 

Andy exhaled.

 

 

 

"We're gonna _try_."

 

 

 

 


	5. You're A Canary

 

The sounds of birdsong flowed into the room like a pleasant surprise, breaching Joe's ears as the chirping forced his eyes to flutter open. His gaze drifted along the workings of his bedroom ceiling, before a slow, broad smile spread on his face, quickly joined by steadily growing louder, and ridiculously amused chortles.

There was something on his mind- indeed, the only thing on his mind this morning.

 

**If (Tired Face )I Clock(Clock Face Seven Oclock ≊ Seven O’Clock)(Clock Face Four Oclock ≊ Four O’Clock)you(White Up Pointing Backhand Index ≊ Backhand Index Pointing Up)on(On With Exclamation Mark With Left Right Arrow Above ≊ On! Arrow)my block(House Building )(House With Garden )(House Building )finna shock(Dizzy Symbol ≊ Dizzy)you with my(Person Raising Both Hands In Celebration ≊ Person Raising Hands)glock(Pistol )(Confounded Face )(Dizzy Face )(Ghost )**

 

Joe pinched the bridge of his nose as he stifled raucous- yet silent laughter behind his free forearm. Pete had been, mentally, sending them all the dumbest shit all night, and Joe was, truthfully, enjoying every moment. As his eyes teared up, Joe stretched a hand over to the bedside table, quickly fetching his phone and attempting to type out a quick, blue message- before another long, almost incomprehensible string invaded his mind's eye.

 

**THE (White Up Pointing Backhand Index ≊ Backhand Index Pointing Up)tiNg(Pistol )gOes(Money Bag )(Smiling Face With Horns )skRRrrRAaaH(Bomb )pOp (Smiling Face With Open Mouth And Tightly-Closed Eyes )(Fireworks )pOp(Anger Symbol )kot(Fireworks )kot(House With Garden )skidEE(Tired Face )(Aubergine ≊ Eggplant)keeT(Key )pOp(Collision Symbol ≊ Collision)poP(Fireworks )(Negative Squared Latin Capital Letter A ≊ A Button)nd(White Heavy Check Mark )UH(Black Question Mark Ornament ≊ Question Mark)(Dizzy Face )(Fisted Hand Sign ≊ Oncoming Fist)pu-pu-prrr-poom(Cat Face With Wry Smile )(Peach )skeeeaH(Snowflake )(Snowboarder )DrOoT(Playing Card Black Joker ≊ Joker)drooT(Saxophone )(Skull )krrkrr(Baby Chick )(Front-Facing Baby Chick )(Hatching Chick )POOM(Collision Symbol ≊ Collision)POOm(Party Popper )pOoM(Peach )(Aubergine ≊ Eggplant)(Splashing Sweat Symbol ≊ Sweat Droplets)pOom(Bomb )(Loudly Crying Face )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Fire )(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)**

 

Joe couldn't hold back his burst of laughter as he sat up, slouching his back and shoulders as he struggled to type coherently through all the stupid- yet admittedly, hilarious bullshit Pete kept sending him.

 

_JoeBoy:_ _(Face With Tears Of Joy ) (Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )L(Fire )M(Fire )(Negative Squared Latin Capital Letter A ≊ A Button)(Fire )(Negative Squared Latin Capital Letter O ≊ O Button)(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Thumbs Up Sign ≊ Thumbs Up)(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)WH(Negative Squared Latin Capital Letter O ≊ O Button)(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Fire )(Fire )(Fire )(Fire )(Bust In Silhouette )(Black Question Mark Ornament ≊ Question Mark)(Black Question Mark Ornament ≊ Question Mark)(Black Question Mark Ornament ≊ Question Mark)DID(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)THIS(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Fire )(Fire )(Fire )(Fire )(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)_

 

_WetePentz:_ _ah,_ _i_ _see you're a man of culture as well_

 

_PatrickStump: I want to die._

 

_WetePentz: mood_

 

_JoeBoy: mood_

 

_Andy: mood_

 

_PatrickStump: Andy, you betrayed me._

 

Joe stifled another loud laugh, shoving his face in the crook of his arm as he breathed heavily, willing himself to calm down.

It was way too early to be laughing like a madman- his parents would probably think he was possessed. And since Joe really could _not_ deal with a reenactment of The Exorcist right now, he decided to lurch out of bed and make a beeline for his dresser instead, all while keeping an eye on his furiously buzzing phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soccer practice was always fun; Running, kicking and most importantly, doing a kickass backflip every time you scored a goal.

 

"Bye Pete!"

 

"See ya Wentz!"

 

"Yeah, bye guys."

 

Pete glanced back over his shoulder with a grin as he paced towards the outskirts of the soccer pitch, giving a final few nods and waves to his teammates- before quickly dropping his head to his phone.

 

_Andy: We should test this out more._

_Andy: We really need to know the full extent._

 

_JoeBoy: I'm down._

_JoeBoy: Got nothing else to do._

 

_PatrickStump: fafsdgdgnOAFOKJJ_

 

_WetePentz: are you having a seizure??_

 

_PatrickStump: gsnaronaongnsgjnfdsgfsdaghqw42345d21_

 

_Andy: Where are you Patrick?  
Andy: Are you okay?_

 

_WetePentz: have u fallen, and u can't get up??_

 

_PatrickStump: dagf_

 

_JoeBoy: Are you getting murdered or??_

 

_WetePentz: i'll go look for him_

_WetePentz: lets meet somewhere after tho_

 

_JoeBoy: Let's go to mcdonald's I'm hungry_

 

_WetePentz: would u say u have the munchies scoobs_

 

_JoeBoy: zoinks raggy_

 

_Andy: All of that was in the wrong order._

 

Whining stopped Pete dead in his tracks, and his gaze finally tore away from the screen- at which he'd been staring with a dopey smile; The guys were cool- Pete was actually really glad he'd been put in such a chill group-

 

 

"Oh my god."

 

 

_WetePentz: guys guys_

 

_Andy: Yeah?_

 

_JoeBoy:??_

 

_WetePentz: i just found a dog, imma be late_

 

Pete ignored the subsequent furious buzzes as he shoved the phone into his pocket, instead, crouching down towards **The Dog**.

Ginger, tiny, and _so fucking fluffy_ \- Pete was gonna die. "Hey buddy," He inched a hand towards it but the puppy made an odd noise in the back of its throat, taking a step backwards. Pete crouched forwards. "C'mere dude."

Holding both hands out, the dog whined again, turning to glance behind it, before it- _very begrudgingly_ , stepped forwards towards Pete.

 

Fool.

 

Pete picked the dog up and instantly cuddled it to his chest, standing up once more as he steadily lost his mind because god, this puppy was so fucking cute, Pete could _not_ deal-

 

Short, indignant and actually pretty angry barks punctured the air as Pete squinted at the dog; It writhed, snapped and clawed- but it was tiny, so, literally no strength. It's teeth only tickled- they were _that_ blunt. And it's claws were practically non-existent.

 

Usually, dogs liked Pete. And Pete liked dogs- so everything worked out perfectly. But this dog... _this_ dog was mad.

 

Pete didn't care. It was too cute to be mad.

 

"I know buddy, I know." Pete cooed at the dog as he bounced it, before pacing forwards with a new spring in his step; This dog was too fucking adorable for it's own good. "You're the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen in my entire life- _I love you_ , oh my god-" Pete paced forwards, writhing and barking dog still firmly in the dip where his shoulder and chest met. "Fuck- I'm adopting you, I don't give a fuck."

As they rounded the corner, the barking became frantic, but Pete only ducked his head away from the puppy as he spotted something...intriguing.

 

And a little ominous.

 

What he was pretty sure was Patrick's bag, lay discarded on the pavement; Around it, splayed out like a bed, there lay his phone- with that dorky Ghostbusters phone case Pete had always found adorable, his books- drama, music, science, and finally, his glasses and cap- both crinkled and looking as though they'd been tossed there after a struggle.

 

Shit.

 

Someone had kidnapped Patrick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pete strode into McDonald's with Patrick's belongings hitched on his shoulder along with his own, and with the dog in his free arm; This puppy was adorable. Even if Patrick had been kidnapped- which would suck, that didn't mean Pete couldn't spontaneously adopt a dog, right? And, besides, Patrick was probably fine, right? And like- Patrick had superpowers now, he could totally defend himself against whatever creep-

 

"Pete?"

 

Snapped out of his thoughts, Pete glanced up towards the voice; His gaze instantly found Joe and Andy, who were sat at a booth as they idly waited on the remaining members of the group. Joe had been halfway through a bite of a ridiculously greasy looking burger, and Andy had been watching that whole car crash with nothing but disdain- but now, their attentions were firmly on the slightly panicky and jittery Pete.

 

"Uh- h-hey guys." Keep it cool. Don't freak them out- not yet anyway. Pete tried a shaky grin as he slid down next to Joe, subconsciously pulling the wiggling puppy closer and petting it with a crazed look in his eye.

 

Joe and Andy shared a glance.

 

"Uh, Pete?"

 

"Um-hm?"

 

"...Why do you have a dog?"

 

Pete had started rocking back and forth a little, dog firmly against him as the animal finally relented into letting Pete love it. The silence made Joe and Andy bristle, and to distract himself for a few moments, Joe took a huge gulp from his unnecessarily large coke.

 

 

"Patrick's been kidnapped."

 

 

Coke went everywhere.

 

Pete's nose only twitched as the glassy stare remained- but through Joe's choking and Andy's frantic napkins, the puppy had started freaking the hell out.

It barked, howled, whined and pawed- drawing awkward side glances from other patrons and even some dead eyed staff. No one seemed to have the heart the throw a dog out though- that was a sin.

"W-What d-" Joe thumped a fist on his chest, beads of coke still rendering him useless as he collapsed into coughing once again. Andy, with a furrowed brow and a rising feeling of panic, grabbed Pete by the shoulders and shook him lightly while staring him down seriously.

 

"Where's Patrick? What do you mean 'he's been kidnapped'?"

 

Pete raised his eyes to Andy's, before quickly shrugging with a gulp and nodding over to Patrick's possessions that sat beside his own. "I found his stuff on the sidewalk- it was all thrown there, like- like-"

 

"Pete- Pete, this is serious-

 

"I know it's serious!"

 

"We need to stop messing around, we gott-"

 

"I KNOW IT'S SERIOUS, HE'S MY BEST FRIE-" Pete shook himself, wincing at the words that had left his lips on a subconscious level. No. Not anymore. Not his best frie-

 

**IT'S** **ME, YOU DIPSHITS.**

 

Patrick's voice. Loud and clear, crisp and crystal through his head. Pete stared up between Andy and Joe, and by their similarly shocked and blank faces- they'd heard it too.

 

Andy looked down at the puppy; It was giving them all firm, _too human-like_ glares.

 

 

"Is that _you, Patrick?"_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Oh my ga- puppy! Are we getting a puppy, Joe?!"

 

Joe smiled nervously as he nodded the trio upstairs, before turning to his sister once Pete, Andy...and apparently, Patrick, were firmly out of view.

 

"Uh- no, Lauren- I'm sorry- he's uh- he's…" Joe squinted into thin air, trying to steel himself with an excuse at his sister's disheartened face. "He's Pete's dog."

 

"But I- I wanted- I wanted a-"

 

"Sorry kid." Joe gave his sister's hair a fond pat before he raced up the stairs with a yell, "Go play Nintendogs or something!"

 

As soon as he reached his bedroom door, he shoved his way inside- only to be met by Patrick...apparently, angrily trying to bite Pete's leg- all while the dark-haired boy just laughed at the seemingly pathetic attempt.  
Patrick shook his head, teeth digging into the soccer sock just above Pete's ankle- all as Andy watched with nothing but curiosity and horror painting his face.

Joe sighed, tossing his bag down to the nook beside his desk before pacing forwards and collapsing in his beanbag chair, pulling his hood up over his face with a sigh. He wasn't ready to deal with this.

 

**WHY AM I A DOG?**

 

"I dunno Patrick, but you're cute as fuck- and your insults hurt less-"

 

**FUCK YOU, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER.**

 

"See?" Pete crouched down to scratch behind Patrick's ear- something which the ginger puppy did not appreciate in the slightest. "It's just adorable."

 

**I KEEP SCREAMING, BUT GOD WON'T ANSWER.**

 

"Wow, drama queen lol."

 

**STOP SAYING LOL.**

 

"Lol no."

 

Andy- who had nobly been quiet up to this point, finally let out a long exhale and sat on another mismatched armchair next to Joe's, hands stifling his face for a moment.

Pete only kept messing with Patrick, giggling at the pathetic attempts to bite and scratch him, all before a yelp and a sneeze cut through the air.

 

"Oh my god."

 

Joe and Andy looked up from their respective hideaways, jaws falling open.  
  
"Oh my god- fuck, oh my god, so tiny. I'm dying, I can't-" Pete was practically crying as he scooped up a tiny ginger kitten with folded ears, cuddling it tenderly as to not completely squish it.

 

**Put me down. Now.**

 

"Oh my god- you are so cute, I'm dying, oh god-"

 

**I will end you if you don't put me down right now.**

 

"Guys- guys look." Pete grabbed one of Patrick's white tipped paws as he inched over to Joe and Andy- being careful not to let the squirming kitten escape his arms. He showed the other two the pink pad under the kitten's paw.

 

"Aww-"

 

"That's actually really cu-"

 

**FUCK YOU ALL. FUCK YOU ALL SO HARD.**

 

"Aw, love you too dude!"

 

**GO DIE IN A DITCH, PETE- NOW. ALL OF YOU. GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND FIX ME.**

 

"Like, how are we supposed to fix you dude?" Joe quirked an eyebrow as he threw a hand up lazily at the glaring kitten, but Pete only laughed as he clattered down into Joe's desk chair, idly swivelling it from side to side and watching Patrick get more dazed with each one.

 

**Stop with the chair- I swear to god.**

 

"Wheee! Come on dude!" Pete started giving particularly violent jerks of the chair as Joe and Andy only watched in amusement and stifled giggles at Patrick's yowling- both mental and physical.

 

**I'M GONNA THROW UP AND YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO CLEAN IT STOP WITH THE FUCKING CHAIR.**

 

A tiny, high-pitched sneeze rang out, and just as the human trio blinked- the cat was gone, and in its place was a bright yellow canary.

 

"Oh my god-"

 

"Wait-"

 

**HELP ME. IT HURTS EVERY TIME I CHANGE.**

 

"Try turn into a frog and I'll kiss you."

 

**OKAY. NOBODY HELP ME. ESPECIALLY NOT YOU PETE.**

 

"Aw, but Patrick."

 

Another sneeze, before low hissing filled the room. Pete yelped and lurched away as the sweet little canary turned into-

 

"OH NO- FUCK THAT-"

 

"GO BACK TO THE DOG."

 

A Burmese python; Yellow, pale, red eyes and longer than the trio's legs combined- and not to mention, as thick as their arms.

 

**Hiss hiss bitch.**

 

"NO- DON'T YOU-"

 

**GUESS WHO'S TINY _NOW?_**

 

Joe and Andy had lurched over to the bed, standing on the mattress- not paying any mind to their filthy soles on the comforter as they focused on getting the fuck away from the angry snake that was slithering around on the floor.

Pete- who was currently stranded on the other side of the room by said snake, only froze as he backed against the wall, pleading with Patrick to stay the fuck away, because at the moment- he was scary as shit.

 

"Patrick- Patrick, just chill-"

 

Patrick said nothing- or, thought, nothing, as he turned his head over to Pete, scanning him over with tiny, ruby red eyes.

 

Before he started slithering towards Pete.

 

"Oh shit- no no no- Patrick- Patrick- I-I'm sorry for carrying you a-around and stuff- fuck- seriously-"

 

Patrick only hissed and bared his teeth, strings of spit- or venom, fuck Pete was gonna die- He was too young to die, oh fuck-

  
He only managed to tear his eyes away from the python to spot Joe mouthing and furiously gesturing at a metal lamp nearby on the desk.

  
Pete didn't need to be told twice.

He swiped the lamp in his hand, grimacing as he felt the wires rip out of the plug, before he steeled himself and stoned his face, raising the blunt metal object threateningly.

 

"Back off, Patrick. I do not wanna squish your snake head, but _I_ _will_."

 

Patrick only raised his top half, unhinged and hissing jaw meeting his face, before-

 

 

A hiss, a thud, and a yelp.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You're not so tough now, are ya?"

 

Pete glared at the goldfish in the cup, swimming in panicky circles as it nudged the glass angrily.

 

**Please- please just make me normal again.**

 

"UH- You _bit_ me- I think not, motherfucker."

 

**YOU HIT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH A _METAL_ LAMP. WHAT THE HELL WAS I-**

 

"ALRIGHT- Alright, just shut up- both of you."

Joe shook his head as he settled beside Pete, zipping open the first aid kit he'd never thought he'd actually use- especially for something like a python bite. "This is gonna sting, okay?"  
  
Pete only frowned deeply and gave Joe a pitiful look- before shooting a venomous glower over at Patrick. "This is your fault-"

 

**I never asked for this. D'you think it's fun? 'Cause it's not.**

 

"Didn't have to bite me, dickweed- AH-" Pete tried to jerk his arm away from the stinging antiseptic- only to have it held in place by Andy, who'd taken to sitting at his other side. The two torturers glanced at each other with soft smiles and nods.

 

Another dab of antiseptic, another hiss and pull from Pete. With a frustrated grunt, Joe clapped his hand down over the deep bite wound in Pete's forearm, knuckles going pale as he stared Pete down and ignored all the gross blood that was probably getting on his hand.

 

"Pete- a snake bit you. We need to clean it and stitch it. It's serious- you'll probably have that scar forever-"

 

"Oh, _thanks a lot, _Patrick- you scarred me for life, hope you're real fucking happy-"__

 

**You deserve it.**

 

"Oh you know what- _fuck you."_ Pete's voice was laced with pure exhaustion and resentment as his lip curled at Patrick. And yes. He was aware that he was arguing with a goldfish. Yes, if anyone saw him, they'd think he was insane.

 

"Like, really, what did I ever do to-"

 

**I'M STRESSED.**

 

"BEING STRESSED IS NOT A REASON TO BITE M-"

 

**I AM A VERY SMALL FISH. AND I HAVE NO MONEY. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THE KIND OF STRESS I'M UNDER-**

 

"Joe."

 

Andy's voice was a gasp as all three- including Patrick's beady black eyes, gazes moved to Andy- before dropping to where the light blue eyes were staring.

 

The blood was gone.

 

Joe- face plastered with disbelief as his jaw hung open, lifted his hand to reveal-

 

A perfectly healthy forearm.

 

No python fang marks, no blood, no- nothing.

 

After a few moments of silent gaping at the perfectly healthy skin, a loud, almost realizing sigh punctured the silence.

 

 

"We need to write this down."

 

 

**Wait- Wait- please help- don't get distracted with Joe's thingy I'm still a fUCKING FISH.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Day Two-"

 

"-in the big brother house."

 

 

Andy only spared a half-hearted glare at Pete as his exhaustion took the best of him, before he looked into Pete's camera and tried again.

 

"So far, two more abilities have been discovered-"

 

The tiny fox, that was curled into a ball on the bed, whimpered loudly, catching the human trio's attention. **I'm gonna be an animal forever, I just wanna go home, and my mom and dad are probably freaking out- I just-**

 

"Respective to Patrick and Joe-"

 

"Dude, check this out." Joe tapped the screen of his phone before angling it over to Pete- who only grinned and nodded eagerly in response. "Dude, we gotta see that one! Fuckin' dolls and shit- nice!"

 

**I do not consent to scary movies.**

 

"Too bad, Patrick." Joe chortled as he leapt over to his laptop, bringing it over to his lap and tapping the keys for a few moments before sparing a brief glance up to Pete. "I'll download it, we can watch it this weeke-"

 

"Patrick has shown signs-"

 

**Uh, excuse me. They aren't signs- I'm a fucking _fox_ right now. **

 

"Patrick is a shapeshifter." Andy sighed and stared over at the creature, stretching out on the mattress and watching its fluffy tail thump around idly. "Happy?"

 

**Never.**

 

"Lol, mood."

 

"Mood."

 

Andy sighed again, trying a serious stare into the camera's lens once more. "And Joe shows signs of healing." The boy glanced down to his notepad, pen trailing over his neat bullet points of the events earlier that evening- back when the sun had still been high in the sky.  
  
Due to Patrick's inability to stop shapeshifting into different creatures- from ants to deer, the quartet had decided to quarantine themselves until they got him back to normal.

So far, nothing had worked, and as their plans had gotten progressively dumber, they'd decided to call it a night. Joe had offered to let Patrick stay until he turned back to normal- seeing as the fox wasn't ecstatic at the idea of staying with Pete.

 

"During one of Patrick's...changes, uh- he turned into a snake and bit Pete-"

 

**I WAS PROVOKED.**

 

"No he wasn't!" Pete only yelled out for the camera, popping his head into view for a split second before slumping back down in the beanbag, as he and Joe looked for more films to watch.

 

"Joe then, somehow, healed Pete. He put his hand on the injury, and it just, _disappeared_." Andy sighed and nodded to himself as he chewed his lip. He'd come to a few conclusions after studying their footage- and their day-to-day bursts of power.

 

 

"After...some time, I've theorized that- that- our abilities only...I dunno, occur, I suppose-" Andy glanced up into the camera seriously, brow furrowed and voice firm. "When our emotions are high."

 

 

"Wait- what?" Three gazes shot over to Andy, and as Joe shook his head slowly- on the brink of begging for an explanation, Andy continued, purely addressing the camera.

 

"The first time an ability acted up, it was telekinesis- performed by Pete." Andy shifted in his chair, making a point of avoiding the three, shocked stares that chased his own. "He was angry; He'd been missing shots all day, Patrick had been taunting him-"

 

**No I wasn't!**

 

"Yes, you were, Patrick."

 

Pete and Patrick shared a glare...that quickly collapsed into Pete giggling because he was literally having an intense staring contest with a fox.

 

"He was angry. Then, when Patrick threw the ball, he was scared. Both emotions were running extremely high at their respective times, so it is my belief that having extreme emotions triggers unwarranted power usage."

 

"You sound like an instruction manual."

 

The boy could only spare an exhausted glance at Joe, before he leant back over the desk and stared into the camera with soft, tired eyes. "The second use of telekinesis was from Patrick. He was scared because Pete was threatening him with the baseball-"

 

**I wasn't scared. I was angry. I don't get scared.**

 

"You fucking _liar_ , oh my god-"

 

"The third." Andy raised his voice to block out the chatter behind him, leaning forwards to stare into the camera. "The third time. Patrick's emotions have been running high the whole time- and I suspect, that all of this started when he was-"

 

A tiny sneeze, before a white-speckled fawn took the fox's place.

 

"Oh my god, you're literally Bambi."

 

**FUCK. YOU. PETE.**

 

"Patrick," Andy swivelled in his chair, hunching forwards and bracketing his forearms on his thighs as he stared at Patrick. "How did this start? What happened?"

 

The fawn dropped its head, eyes closing as its tail flicked idly. **I was at theatre practice, and I- I- we were having this argument about 'Look Down'- like, if the whole cast should sing it, if the drums should take prime-**

 

"Patrick, the quicker you tell this story, the quicker I can figure out how to turn you back."

 

The fawn's head shot up, coaxing giggles and chimes of 'Aw' from Pete and Joe. Patrick made a grunt at them, before shuffling off of the bed and pacing towards Andy on four, shaky and gangly legs.

 

**We were arguing, and then, class ended. I was walking to McDonald's to meet you guys, and then I sneezed, and-**

 

Patrick settled back on his haunches, lowering his head sadly. **Andy, please figure out how to turn me back- I hate this so much-**

 

"Okay, just give me a sec- it'll be quick, I promise." Andy turned back to his notebook, leaning down over it and scanning the pages intently, and all while Patrick sneezed once again.

 

"Oh my god- you're Thumper!"

 

**Please no bully.**

 

"Lol."

  
A tiny ginger rabbit hopped over to the bed, shuffling under it and squeaking miserably. Pete lurched up from his beanbag, stepping over to the bed and kneeling down, dropping his head to find the tiny rabbit that only stared at him with drooped ears.

 

**What do you _want_ , Pete?**

 

"You okay, dude?"

 

Patrick's nose twitched, before he crawled forwards and nudged his head against Pete's knee. **Stop being an asshole and give me a blanket, I'm cold.**

 

With a small laugh, Pete caught a knitted blanket Joe threw towards him, before bundling the small rabbit with it and bringing him to his chest- only leaving Patrick's face and ears poking out from the cluster as he clattered back into the beanbag.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay Patrick, just relax."

 

The rabbit shut its eyes, ears twitching softly and batting against Pete's collarbones.

 

"Clear your mind. Just calm down."

 

Patrick's nose wiggled.

 

"Just think of-"

 

A sneeze rang through the air, and just as they'd blinked- Patrick was human again.

 

 

Wrapped in a blanket.

 

 

And sat in Pete's lap.

 

 

"GET THE FUCK-"

 

"OW- FUCKIN' KICKED ME IN THE D-"

 

Andy only glanced over at Joe- who watched the scene with a silent, amused laugh. He glanced back over at Pete and Patrick- both panting, clutching injured body parts and groaning as they nursed their temples and ribs.

 

 

 

"Great job, guys."

 

 

 

 


	6. Live Mas

 

"Did uh- did you know that rivers, carry...dissolved... _ions_ …?"

 

"Cool." Joe nodded with wide eyes and a fake lilt to his voice, as he reaffirmed the incredibly bored Pete's dubious statements. The dark haired boy gave a nod and dropped his gaze back to the book, before Joe did the same.

 

A few moments of silence passed, before Joe opted to speak up again, trying to break the awkward, library silence.

 

"Rivers- uh... _change shape_."

 

Pete nodded, brow furrowed and determined to look interested. " _Awesome_."

 

Andy was in pain.

 

"Do you guys even know what we're supposed to be doing?"

The firm tone of voice warranted an angry 'shush' from the school's librarian, at which Andy only grimaced and mouthed a sorry.

Joe and Pete gave squints and nervous smiles as they glanced at each other, before two, crystal clear voices rang through Andy's head.

 

**PW: Honestly, no idea.**

 

**JT: Yeah, I'm kinda lost too.**

 

Andy raised his eyebrows at them, before sighing deeply and clapping his geography book shut.

 

**AH: Are you kidding me?**

 

Pete shook his head lightly whilst Joe quirked an eyebrow, both glanced at each other and shrugged again.

 

**AH: You're hopeless. You're both hopeless.**

 

Pete dropped his head onto his hands and sighed- earning another glare from the librarian. He rolled his eyes as she turned away, before glancing back at the duo.

 

**PW: Y'know, we could be testing our superpowers instead of researching water. Which is really boring.**

 

A grin split over Joe's features as he nodded slowly, **JT: I agree.**

 

Andy only blinked, resisting a roll of his eyes; These guys were really dumb sometimes. God, Andy still had no idea how Joe was a straight A student.

 

**AH: Fine. What do you guys wanna do then?**

 

Joe tilted his head for a moment, eyes squinting forwards at nothing in particular, and just over Andy's shoulder as his voice rang through their heads again.

 

**JT: Taco Bell?**

 

**PW: Nice.**

 

**AH: Are you serious?**

 

The feeling of a stare burning into the sides of their faces turned their gazes to the side; A table of girls had been staring at them- some brows furrowed, some quirked, all as Andy probably realized their motivation. Instead of talking in a whisper like normal people, Andy, Joe and Pete had been staring at each other intently- in complete, freaky silence.

 

"...Fine, let's go to fucking Taco Bell."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I mean- just think of the possibilities!"

 

"Whoa there-" Andy gave Pete- who was in the process of getting brain freeze from the disgusting-looking, practically glowing, Mountain Dew freeze- a firm look. "We don't even know how to control them- we don't know what effects they have-"

 

"Pete's right though!" Joe- spilling half of his burrito on the table, much to his own, and Andy's, disdain. "We could be rich- like, literally-" He shrugged as he cleaned the plasticky table with a few scratchy napkins. "Go to Vegas, rig all the machines- and boom! _Rich_."

 

Andy only sighed, slouching back in the booth. "Being rich isn't everything. Money can't make you happy."

 

 

"Uh- you must not be using money right, then."

 

 

The three gazes flicked over to Patrick; Red cap, glasses, and bags under his eyes from yesterday's ordeal.

 

"Hey dude."

 

"Hey Patrick."

 

Pete only gave him a smile- that was rewarded with a half-hearted glare, as the ginger slunk down next to Andy, rubbing a palm over his face.

 

"So, anyway," Joe snapped his fingers, before idly pointing forwards. "Superpowers. We should...uh…"

 

"...Train…?"

 

Pete only grinned, and nodded.

 

 

"Exactly."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"It's not that hard, fam."

 

"Stop calling me fam."

 

Pete, Andy and Joe only chortled as they watched Patrick's face screw up again, eyes closing and entire being focusing on the apple on the table in front of him.

His breathing was deep, his eyelids trembled, his knuckles whitened, and then-

 

The apple shot up into the air, hovering a good amount of centimetres above the wood.

 

"Holy shit-"

 

"Nice-"

 

"Okay, Patrick- don't lose it." Andy's gaze was cautious as gold-ringed, blue eyes crooked open again- instantly widening at the sight of the floating fruit. "Just stay calm, focus on it."

The ginger nodded, puffing out an exhale before his brow screwed down, all while his eyes burned into the red skin of the apple.

A few moments of intense staring, and the apple moved towards him- trembling and almost faltering in the air, before it safely dropped into Patrick's hand.

 

Despite himself, and despite his constant complaining about 'these freaky, motherfucking powers', Patrick's face split into a toothy, proud grin. Andy smiled with a nod, glancing over to Pete's camera- that was set up on a precariously stacked tower of books, and feeling relief jolt him as he saw the red light; Sure, if these videos were ever discovered, things could take a...bad, turn- but Andy, and the others, would be careful to not let them fall into the wrong hands.

 

Flipping through the pages of his notepad, Andy squinted down before finding the newest blank page and scribbling down the 'Apple' test results; Pete had passed with flying colours- as had Joe. They'd both managed to deftly drive the sphere around with little to no shakiness. Andy had done decently- sure, he hadn't been as graceful or smooth as the other two, but he'd just about managed. Patrick had, admittedly, struggled a little more; It'd taken him more tries to actually get the apple into the air, and to actually get it to move. Although, Andy suspected it was because of something going on in Patrick's head, rather than him just being untalented.

He wasn't sure _what_ it was- but _something_ was definitely distracting the redhead, and he'd decided to make a mission of finding out.

 

Andy had a sneaking suspicion of what was plaguing Patrick, and to confirm or deny his theory- he'd need Joe's help.

 

He glanced up towards Patrick; The apple was levitating in front of him as he stared it down with the upmost seriousness. He looked over to Pete; The baseball jersey-clad boy was intensely staring at his phone...that was floating a few centimetres away from his nose.

 

Not what Andy would have advised, but whatever.

 

"Hey uh- Patrick?"

 

The apple wavered as Patrick's eyes snapped towards Andy- but it remained hovering as he tilted his head in a question.

"I think there's a way you can…" Andy quickly scribbled down his hypothesis in a few easy-to-follow bullet points. "Control, what you turn into." He tugged the page out of the spiral, before sliding it over the wood towards Patrick, letting the redhead scan his eyes over the lines.

 

"And, Pete?"

 

"Hm?" Pete's eyes brightened as he swiftly caught his phone in mid-air, before raising his gaze to Andy- who flicked another piece of paper towards him. "Careful you don't burn it."

Pete squinted at the page, eyes crinkled and nose wrinkled as he cocked his head. "What- what d'you mean, 'change flame type'?"

"Blue flames are stronger than orange flames." The answer chimed in from Joe, who didn't even raise his eyes from his phone's screen as his fingers worked quickly, apparently typing something long and complex.

 

Pete gaped for a moment, before his mouth curled into a narrowed grin. "Kickass." With a lurch and a yell of 'Thanks Andy!', Pete sped away and made a beeline for his backyard- followed by a begrudging Patrick, who nodded a smile and a thanks to Andy too.

 

With a brief glance at Joe, Andy ducked his head to his notepad and began focusing on his message, clearing it up and attempting to send it to Joe, before-

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and with a tiny exhale, he fished the device out and checked the new message.

 

_JoeBoy: There's something going on with them, right??_

 

Andy smiled, raising him eyes to Joe. You magnificent bastard.

 

**AH: Exactly.**

 

Joe crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair with a soft smile, along with a tilt of his head. **JT: So, what do you think it is?**

 

Andy shrugged, eyebrows quirking. **AH: Shared history maybe?**

 

A slow smile spread over Joe's face, and he nodded with nothing but mischief in his eyes. **JT: I'll go after Pete. You go for Patrick.**

 

Andy grinned, despite himself.

 

 

**AH: Deal.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Flame on."

 

Pete's hand burst into orange flames, before they shifted blue instead- all while the boy grinned broadly, pride sparking in his chest.

 

"Flame off."

 

With a woosh, the fire disappeared- quickly joined by a happy noise from Pete, but all before a voice from behind him urged his gaze over his shoulder.

 

"Hey Pete."

 

Pete smiled over at Joe, shaking his hand as to not prompt an involuntary flame. "Hey Joe, you good?"

The curly-haired boy smiled and nodded, pacing over and taking a curious look at his hand. "How's the fire going?"

Eyes crinkling at their corners, Pete laughed and nodded, eyes training on his digits as they squirmed, lighting small flames on his fingertips and watching them flicker. "Pretty good." He glanced up towards the other boy, "How's the healing going?"

Joe only shrugged lightly, grinning broadly as he rocked back on his heels. "I dunno, just gotta wait 'til someone loses an arm, y'know?" Pete huffed and nodded, smile small yet spread out.

 

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching Pete flicker blue, purple and orange flames over his fingers.

 

"Pete?"

 

Pete quirked an eyebrow with a smile; Hey, he liked to be accommodating as possible- even if it often led him into really awkward conversations.

Joe, however, only tilted his head, something like caution crossing his face before he nodded with an exhale. "Do you and Patrick know each other?"

 

Pete quirked an eyebrow, grin spreading across his face; He knew what Joe was asking- but Pete would never pass up an opportunity to be a smart-ass.

 

"Uh- yeah, dude, like-"

 

Joe only raised an eyebrow, making Pete laugh quietly- but ultimately nod. Ducking his head and exhaling softly, Pete smiled up at Joe with a tiny sigh. "Yeah, we uh- we used to be friends, once."

 

Joe's eyes shot open and wide, and Pete only chortled; That was the reaction he'd come to expect when he divulged his and Patrick's origin story.

 

"We actually met in kindergarten- we were best friends for like, ever."

 

"So, what happened?" Joe's face was covered in nothing but shock and disbelief. "'Cause, he- no offence, but he- he like, _hates_ you now."

Pete nodded, trying a smile but not quite hiding the sadness that flickered behind it. "In middle school...I dunno, one day, he just- he got mad, we argued, and then we just...drifted apart."

 

Joe blinked, nodding softly. "That's uh- I mean- why did-"

 

"I dunno, dude." Pete shrugged, something melancholy crossing his features, before he looked down at his untied shoelaces.

 

 

"I kinda...wish I knew, y'know?"

 

The pitiful smile he gave made Joe's chest ache.

 

"Yeah. I know."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**JT: So, they were friends after all. What a plot twist, damn.  
**

 

Andy tipped his head back against his pillow, eyes wide as they vainly scanned the dark workings of his bedroom ceiling.

 

**AH: That's crazy- I mean- I would've never believed-**

 

**JT: I know right! Did you get anything out of Patrick?**

 

He huffed and turned onto his side, curling up in his blankets as he gave a shake of his head Joe couldn't see.

 

**AH: I mean, I tried, but he turned into a frog and he was freaking out a little.**

 

**JT: Damn. I mean- he's a little closed, it'll be harder to get it out of him.**

 

"True." Andy mumbled as his cheek rubbed against the soft fabric of his comforter, letting a yawn overpower him as he worked to send quick, clear words over to Joe's head.

 

**AH: True. But, I still wanna know.**

 

There was a short pause that- admittedly, made Andy nervous; Shit, what if Joe was gonna call him out on respecting Pete and Patrick's privacy? What if he told them about-

 

**JT: Me too.**

 

Andy laughed quietly, rubbing at his closed eyes with his fingers. Looks like he and Joe had similar thought processes- good to know.

 

**JT: I propose an idea.**

 

A nod Joe couldn't see, a mumble he couldn't hear- but thoughts he _could_.

 

**AH: Okay. Try me.**

 

**JT: Or, more like, an alliance.**

 

Andy's eyebrow quirked as he clamped his eyes shut, focusing on white words against the darkness of his mind's eye.

 

**AH:...Against Pete and Patrick?**

 

**JT: Just until we find out the truth. I'll work on Pete- you deal with Patrick.**

 

Sighing heavily, Andy puffed out a breath and shook his head at himself, pulling his covers over his shoulders even tighter.

 

**AH: I hate myself for agreeing to this-**

 

**JT: You love it, don't lie.**

 

He couldn't stifle the laugh that escaped him, but he quickly stifled the sniggers with his arm- as to not draw his mom's attention, seeing as she was merely a room away.

 

**AH: But I really wanna know- so deal.**

 

**JT: Done deal. Sleep well, dude.**

 

Andy smiled softly, sighing happily and letting the ghosts of Joe's voice echo and clink inside his skull; It was peaceful. Talking to someone on such a...crazy level- it was so much deeper than just words and symbols over a phone screen.

  


**AH: You too, Joe.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hours. What felt like hours of just tossing and turning- and Andy had had enough.  
With something between a groan and a sigh, Andy lurched out of bed and strode over to his desk; Whenever he couldn’t get sleep to overpower him- he decided to read, instead. Reading always calmed him down, no matter what. Rain or shine- as long as Andy had a good book or comic, he would be fine.

 

He pulled a book with a blue cover towards him, from where it’d been sat at the corner of his desk. With a thud, Andy opened the pages and settled his elbows on the wood beside the thick layers of paper, letting himself read over the words.

 

_In determining structures of_ _chemical compounds, one generally aims to obtain, minimally, the pattern and multiplicity of bonding between all atoms in the molecule; when possible, one seeks the three dimensional spatial coordinates of the atoms in the molecule (or other solid).The methods by which one can_ _elucidate the structure of a molecule include spectroscopies such as nuclear magnetic resonance (proton and carbon-13 NMR), various methods of_ _mass spectrometry (to give overall molecular mass, as well as fragment masses), and x-ray crystallography when applicable._

 

...Admittedly, he should’ve picked another book; This one happened to be about chemical compounds, and Andy was _not_ having the best time. If only he still had that old copy of To Kill A Mockingbird- whatever everyone said, that was one of his favourite books of all time.  
With a heavy sigh, Andy ran his hands over his eyes, rubbing the spiky sleep out of them, before dropping his gaze back towards the exhausting book.

 

_When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem's fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury._

 

Wait.

 

That wasn’t chemical compounds.

 

That was- wait.

 

That was to- To Kill A Mockingbird.

 

What the-

 

The ink was moving in the pages, twisting into different letters, shaping into new words- reusing the old ink that showed off formulae and diagrams, to become-

 

Andy’s eyes bugged wide. Okay. Okay- think of something else- think of-

 

His eyes clenched shut as he focused, pouring all of his concentration into the simple memory of another book. With a shaky sigh, Andy stared back down at the book.

 

_Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived_

_Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much._

 

Another. Focus. Concentrate.

Check the pages.

 

_Prologue_

_The comet’s tail spread across the dawn, a red slash that bled above the crags of Dragonstone like a wound in the pink and purple sky._

 

Words. Books. Concentrate.

Check the book.

 

_Chapter 1: A Long-expected Party_

_When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton._

 

“Holy shit.” Andy gaped at the pages, head shaking subtly as his eyes widened to the sizes of plates.

 

**AH: Hey Joe?**

 

Mere moments later, Joe’s voice answered his own; Looks like Joe hadn’t slept easy either.

 

**JT: Yeah Andy?**

 

  
Andy inhaled, exhaled, and gazed up at one of his posters idly- eyes blank as they neglected to pay attention to the shapes and colours for real.

  


**AH: I think I know what my power is.**

 

 

 


	7. It's Everyday Bro

 

"Alright, I've marked your coursework so far."

 

Mrs. Rodriguez paced around the classroom, handing out the red scribbled stapled sheets with speed and precision- despite taking a moment to linger and glare at those who, apparently, hadn't done too well.

"Some of you have been disappointing." Patrick choked on his water bottle subtly, pressing his mouth into the crook of his arm as Pete, Joe and Andy held back sniggers; Mrs. Rodriguez really didn't mince her words- she was brutal.

Joe shifted his head, glancing over his shoulder to watch the teacher give dead eyed, disinterested Linder a glower, before she swiftly made a beeline to the next group. The stare was softer and there was even a nod at two of the students- before she turned all of her silent wrath onto the remaining two.

 

"Others,"

 

Joe gulped, glancing down at the papers in her hand, and feeling tight writhing in his stomach as she turned and strode towards their group; Okay, shit- admittedly, the superpower thing had kinda thrown them for a loop, and they hadn't really studied as much as they should've.

Dropping his head into his hands, Joe grimaced, the twisting in his chest getting much worse as he realized just how shitty their work up 'til now had been- fuck, they'd just scrawled the most vague bullshit down. Goddamnit, Joe was gonna fail geograph-

 

"Were excellent."

 

Four pairs of eyes glanced up, finding Mrs. Rodriguez handing them four stacks of stapled papers, dark eyes light, and a…. _smile_...on her face.

 

Holy shit.

 

Pete was the only one who could snap out of his shock for a second to take the papers with a nod and a grin back- that was rewarded with a nod and a laugh.

 

Holy fuck.

 

_A_ _laugh_.

 

Clumsily, Pete slid respective sheets to their respective owners, and as eyes found the notes- laced with what felt like _hundreds_ of smiley faces, exclamation points and ticks- all topped off with a huge A+ in a red circle, jaws fell into disbelieving, open grins.

 

"Now, those of you who did not make the cut," Mrs. Rodriguez was scowling over at somebody, but the quartet only glanced at each other in shock, trying to focus their thoughts, but failing through all the excitement and amazement.

 

"I expect hard work over the break. If you got anything below a C, come see me at the end." Mrs. Rodriguez pushed up on her splayed hands, standing up straight and gaze trailing over the few in her class that had actually done a good job.

 

"As for those who have actually put in the work," She gave a point stare at Patrick, Joe, Andy, and Pete's group.

 

 

 

"Enjoy your spring break."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay Andy, I'm gonna admit- I thought your power kinda sucked at first-"

 

"Uh, excuse-"

 

"Dude. Controlling ink. Seriously."

 

Andy's jaw snapped shut with a clack. Okay. Pete had a point. Controlling ink wasn't as flashy as fire, healing, or shape shifting, but-

 

"But holy shit dude." Pete shook his head incredulously, bag hitching further up his shoulder as he made a point of waving his A+ geography work. "This is incredible."

Despite his mission in life to oppose everything Pete said, Patrick nodded with wide eyes as he stared down at his sheet of paper. "Andy- I mean- How did you…?"

 

Andy only huffed, letting a small smile sit on his face as he shrugged. "I looked through some books, then just wrote it all, copied it out four times."

 

"Uh, Andy- Key point: You did that _with your mind_." Pete wasn't taking any self-depreciation today, apparently.

 

The other boy only gave a breathy laugh and a shrug, trying a glance over at Joe; The curly-haired boy's head was bowed as his eyes scanned over the paper, wide and impressed, but more calmly so.

 

"You even got our handwriting right, holy fuck." At Patrick's voice, Andy's head turned towards the ginger- finding him practically melting in amazement as he put the sheets away in his bag, clicking the metal snaps shut.

 

"Andy?"

 

Joe's voice, Andy turned to glance at him. Soft, yet a little wide, blue eyes met his own, as well as a ruffle of the sheets.

 

"Why'd you do it for _us?_ "

 

Andy blinked. Well, he'd done it because that's what friends do-

 

Except.

 

They weren't really friends, were they?

 

That had never actually been stated, or decided. They were just kinda dealing with each other since the geography project had pushed them together- since school had pushed them together. And fuck, then the powers had happened, and-

 

But now, Spring Break was coming- it'd be here tomorrow, actually. And, they'd would bounce back to what they'd always been; Pete would go to some festival with his friends and get so blackout drunk he'd forget his name every night. Patrick would go on vacation with his family or something, do something cultural, deep, and interesting, no doubt. Joe would hide away in his room, shut the curtains, have horror marathons, smoke weed- turn it into a hotbox of some kind.

 

And Andy...Andy would study.

 

Because, after all, that's who they really were. They weren't really friends, they'd only been in the wrong places at the wrong times, and Andy was kidding himself if he thought it was anything more.

He'd exhausted his mind, given himself flowing nosebleeds, and had literally passed out for five minutes, trying to copy the ink from his own essay four more times- as well as changing the styles to look like each of their writing styles. And for what? Joe was right, why had he done it? He could've saved himself time, pain- and he could've still gotten the A+ he wanted by just doing it himself, and yet.

 

And yet, he'd quadrupled his workload. For no reason other than-

 

"Andy? You there dude?"  
  
Pete's voice, along with his wide eyes and a snap of his fingers, shook him out of his increasingly darkening thoughts. Andy glanced up, finding Pete's gaze- that quickly dissolved into crinkles and mirth. "So, now that we're free from the clutches of school," Pete raised his eyebrows and turned, stepping backwards and beaming as he put on his most convincing tone of voice. "Who wants to go fuck with people?"

 

Andy quirked an eyebrow, Patrick rolled his eyes, but Joe laughed and nodded, following Pete's prompt of walking backwards, before chiming in with his own convincing lilt. "Y'know guys, Pete has a point." When the two, still unconvinced boys glanced dubiously at each other, Pete and Joe stepped it up a notch.

 

"Think about it! We have _superpowers_ guys, we could-"

 

"Get free stuff! Or like-"

 

"You mean steal? Steal stuff?"

 

"It's not stealing if you change a one dollar bill to a hundred, _Andy_."

 

They were...insistent. Really insistent. More insistent than Andy would've really thought they'd be; He'd expected the two 'coolest'/'leaders' of the group to waltz off as soon as the bell had rang, releasing them for spring. But instead...instead they were...they wanted to hang out. They wanted to hang out, together.

 

Huh.

 

Friends.

 

Maybe, just maybe- even if they weren't friends now…maybe, one day, they could be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"The mall? Really? That's what we're doing?"

 

"Dude, Patrick- it's one of the biggest-"

 

"It's still a _mall_ \- I dunno, I didn't know we were _twelve year old girls_ -"

 

"Wait, guys, hang on."

 

As Pete stuttered to a stop, the others fell frozen with him, brows furrowed and glances questioning as Pete stared over at a woman parking her car.

Rush hour had rendered the parking lot completely empty, deserted by cars, people and human bustling as people rushed to and from work and school, picking up their kids or just trying to get home.

The woman hopped out of her car, grabbing her bag and heading inside to the mall, while Pete glanced at the other three with something mischievous about him.

 

"I have an idea."

 

At the words, Pete idly leaned against the metal pole of the parking lot's information sign, hands shuffling into his pockets and brown eyes never leaving the woman's red car for a second.

Joe, Andy and Patrick glanced between each other, before quirking their brows at Pete as the silence remained and as time kept passing by.

 

"Uh...Pete?"

 

As soon as the words had left Andy's mouth, the heavy, scratchy scraping of tires dragging along concrete turned their heads to where Pete's gaze was narrowed; The woman's red car was- seemingly of its own accord, shifting along the concrete as though someone was pulling it. It dragged away from its original space, and took another free slot a good few meters away, leaving the trio gaping as their eyes quickly moved back to Pete.

With a heavy sigh, and a heavy nosebleed to match, Pete winced a little but pushed off of the sign, nodding the other three into the mall with a bounce in his step. "Can't wait to see her lose it." Joe, despite himself, laughed with the dark-haired boy, shaking his head as they all strode past the double doors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Woodfield Mall. Schaumberg, Illinois. Just over half an hour away from Wilmette, but due to its sheer size- Pete had insisted they go. So, despite pockets being a few dollars lighter after the bus fare, the pack had agreed.

Despite it being rush hour, there were quite a few people at the mall; It wasn't packed, but it definitely wasn't '28 Days Later' deserted either.

 

"That was dumb, Pete."

 

"It'll be worth it, trust me." Pete's voice was muffled and nasally as he pressed a tissue- helpfully supplied by Andy, to his nostrils, letting the cotton white paper soak up all the scarlet that insisted on pouring out of his nose.

"While I don't doubt that," Andy smiled despite his try at a firm tone, and Pete grinned, leaning back triumphantly. "You could've injured yourself."

Patrick raised an eyebrow, "What d'you mean?"

 

Settling into his 'scientist analyst' voice, Andy began his explanation with a firm nod, all as they made a beeline for the Apple store- after Joe had promised it would be ' _worth their while_ '.

  
"I think our powers are like muscles." Eyebrows were raised, but Andy was smart and had a good track record at this point, so no protests rang out. "Like, when you're born, you're not strong at all- your muscles are weak, but over time you kinda...build them up, get stronger, right?" A few nods, a few flickers of realization.

"So, we've just gotten these powers- we're still babies when it comes to 'em. We're weak, I guess- untrained." Hit 'em with the facts, then the evidence. "Like, d'you remember the first time Pete stopped the baseball?"

 

Nods, smiles. _That_ was a shared memory they'd never forget.

 

"His nose bled after like, three seconds. But now, after like, training with more baseballs and apples and stuff- he moved _a car_ and didn't get a nosebleed, until, after like, a minute."

 

Silence, squinting, pouts. Concentration, thought- and if Andy focused hard enough, he could just about hear their voices, their thoughts swimming around in their heads. But they were blurry, buzzed, faded. He supposed that'd need to be trained too.

 

"...So, hypothetically," Pete cocked his head, squinting forwards at nothing in particular as they crossed the glass doors into the clean, sleek and white Apple store. "If I...trained, _like a lot_...could I move... _more_ stuff? Not get a nosebleed- that kinda shit?"

Andy furrowed his brow at the mischief behind the words, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, I mean- hypothetically."

"Cool." Pete nodded, slow grin spreading on his face, before-

 

"Where's Joe?" Shaking themselves out of their conversation, they noticed Joe was gon-

 

"Oh wait, there he is."

 

Joe was, inconspicuously as possible for a red eyed teenager, standing next to the iPads, hands in his pockets and bouncing on his toes as he glanced back to the trio he'd wordlessly slipped away from.

 

**JT: Guys, I need your help, get over here.**

 

Pete and Patrick moved to step forwards, but Andy crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, like a disapproving mother hen.

 

**AH: Are you gonna steal something?**

 

Joe's eyes widened dramatically as he clapped a hand over his heart, trying to hold back an amused smile as he shook his head subtly.

 

**JT: How could you even- Why would you think- That's _so_ racist, Andy.**

 

**AH: Joe.**

 

Joe nodded them over once again, and from the more conviction behind it, the trio finally relented, pacing towards him and taking an awkward stand next to the iPads- all while trying to avoid suspicious glances from the workers.

 

**JT: I wanna change the lock screens.**

 

Pete grinned eagerly, nodding hyperactively, Andy smiled with a roll of his eyes, and Patrick sniggered, holding the sound behind his wrist as he nodded subtly.

 

**PS: Any ideas?**

 

Joe nodded with a broad smile that threatened to spill into laughter at any moment. Tapping the iPad sat on the stand in front of him, Joe deftly typed in a few words that made Pete choke on his own breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**JT: I see a whole army of my countrymen here in defiance of tyranny. You have come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What would you do without freedom? Will you fight?**

 

**PS: We're gonna get kicked out.**

 

**PW: Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but thEY'LL NEVER TAKE OUR FREEDOM.**

 

**AH: Inspirational.**

 

Glancing back over his shoulder, Joe's heart fluttered in relief as he saw most of the employees were far too busy with clients to be keeping watchful eyes on them- as they'd been before.

He turned back to the other three; They each had three iPads between them, and they were stood in a row along the display aisle.

With reassuring glances, Joe found each of their gazes, before nodding firmly.

 

**JT: Go.**

 

Fingers tapping, eyes narrowed, hearts thundering against ribs; Admittedly, it was a little more dramatic and tense than it really should've been. Joe could practically hear the countdown in his ears, along with the thundering of his pulse as he finally changed the last of his iPads.

A stock picture of a woman seductively licking a cactus, a man smiling lovingly at a dead, skinned chicken, and an uncomfortable zoomed in picture of Ted Cruz.

He glanced over to Pete's screens next to his own, seriously biting back a spluttered laugh at the... _questionable_ variations of Kermit the Frog killing himself, and the most depraved Furry confessions he'd been able find with a quick google search. Pete grinned up at him with a shrug, before-

 

"Excuse me- what are you doing?"

 

That was enough for all of them to bolt outside. And as the staff finally noticed the...interesting pictures on the lock screens, a few made a point of chasing the quartet of teenagers- who had since burst into unbridled laughter and had fled the scene like convicts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Are you telling me you _don't_ wanna go to Build-A-Bear Workshop? The Notre Dame of our generation?"

 

"You're such a-"

Even Patrick couldn't hold back his spluttered laugh as the group waltzed passed the brightly coloured store, into which small kids were dragging their parents with wailing pleads.

 

"Dude, _Claire's_ , you gotta stock up on your tiaras."

 

"Shit, how could I've forgotten-" Pete couldn't even finish his sentence as he pinched the bridge of his nose, more laughter bubbling up his chest at the sounds of the others laughing.

As soon as they'd started calming down enough to speak again, Andy let out another strangled, dramatic gasp. "Guys- we're ignoring the most important-"

 

As their gazes met the bright green sign reading 'CROCS', the quartet promptly lost their shit once more, earning a glare and a yell from one of the employees in the plastic sandal store.

 

 

"THEY'RE PRACTICAL AND COMFORTABLE, ASSHOLES."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Oh shit, this one's good."

 

Joe poked at a game on the shelf; Black cover, green, inverted cross, and the words 'Outlast 2' in neon, glowy white. Pete, who had been innocently reading over the newest installation of Fifa, cocked his head. "What's it about?"

 

"Cults." Andy helpfully supplied from behind the metal aisle. Joe snorted but Pete made an interested noise, picking it up and rocking on his heels as he read over the back of the box.

"This one too." Dilapidated house, a little girl's silhouette, orange letters reading 'Resident Evil 7' on the front. Pete quirked his eyebrow again, but Andy answered his question almost immediately.

 

"Redneck simulator."

 

Pete and Joe snickered, the curly-haired boy taking the new game and scanning over the writing, growing more interested and humming happily at the more graphic the descriptions got.

 

Patrick, who had up until this point, been bored out of his mind during the twenty minutes they'd spent in Gamestop, looked up towards the box with a cocked head and interest flickering in his eyes. "What's that one about?"

Joe glanced up, eyes finding a dark green box, plastered with a terrified woman wearing an astronaut's helmet. 'Alien: Isolation'"

 

"It's Alien. Like, the movies, y'know?"

 

That caught the redhead's attention. Patrick's eyes widened softly, and with a slightly hesitant hand, he took the game and read over the back, soft noises of dull interest overtaking him as he paced back and forth, reading intensely. His gaze snapped up to Joe's, "This one's good."

 

Joe grinned and nodded, before glancing over at Pete- who signalled the same with a beam and the small stack of thin boxes in his hand.

 

"Andy?"

 

The voice was lilted as Joe rocked up onto his toes, crossing his forearms over the metal aisle and giving Andy his best puppy dog eyes, and as Andy's head snapped upwards, their faces ended up practically inches apart.

The other boy's Adam's apple bobbed at the proximity, eyes widening softly as he tried to keep his cool, quirking an eyebrow, and trying to keep his face from reverting into a tomato.

 

"Change my one into a hundred? Pretty please?"

 

Joe's grin only widened as Andy rolled his eyes with a tiny smile, stumbling over to their side of the aisle and quickly taking the outstretched offer of Joe's one dollar bill.

With a nod, Andy held the paper between both hands, pulling it taut and focusing his eyes on the patterns, pictures and numbers- all while picturing the a hundred dollar bill in his mind's eye, and forcing the ink to move under his watchful concentration.

 

George Washington became Benjamin Franklin. Ones became hundreds. And in a mere seconds, Andy handed a fresh, newly made, and totally technically legal, hundred dollar bill to Joe.

 

"Enjoy. Don't spend it all at once."

 

Joe's jaw was a little slack, and his eyes were wide and soft; He'd seen Andy do it before- but goddamn, it still amazed him every time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Needless to say, thanks to the fact that Andy could literally make hundreds of dollars out of a few receipts and chewing gum wrappers- they left Gamestop with rucksacks bursting at the seams, filled with all kinds of horrific, and expensive, videogames.

 

"You motherfuckers are _not_ leaving me alone with these games."

 

The four spluttered into loud laughter- which drew a few glares, at Patrick's grumble, and soon enough, Joe was shaking his head with a sigh. "Regretting buying those, dude?"

Pete cocked his head at the others, "We should play 'em together- and like, actually watch some of those films you've been going on about, Trohman."

Despite Patrick's willingness to shut down Pete's ideas as soon as they always stared, his eyes grew gentle and grateful at Pete's suggestion; Pete had known Patrick forever, and he knew for a fact that the kid was a total chicken when it came to scary shit.

Years ago, back when they were both seven years old, he and Patrick had made a plan to meet up and watch the Blair Witch Project- unbeknownst to their parents. Due to some complications, Pete had had to bail, and instead, out of some kind of spite, Patrick had gone ahead with watching the movie.

 

He was still traumatized by that film to this very day. That said a lot.

 

"My parents are leaving on a work thingy for the weekend- you guys should come over." Pete quirked a smile at their hums and nods, before Andy's brow furrowed. "Don't you have to like, babysit?"

Pete only laughed, shaking his head as they made the final stretch to the mall's doors. "Dude, Andy- my sister's gonna go to her friend's place, and my brother, like-" They stepped through the doors, pushing through into the crisp air that held a promise of Spring. "He only leaves his room for either, food," Pete counted off the reasons on his fingers, eyes wide and reassuring as he gradually won the other three over. "School, or, bathroom- that's it. He's not gonna tell- he talks to mom and dad less than I do- Oh shit, guys, look-"

 

Pete nodded over to the woman from earlier; She was walking back towards her car, crooks of her arms layered with bags from all kinds of clothes stores. The quartet edged along quietly, glancing back and forth and keeping their voices low.

The woman reached the space where she thought she'd left her car, before-

 

"What- wai-" With a sudden surge of panic surging her voice, she glanced around, brows furrowed and jaw open. The four boys had to press fists over their mouths, eyes clenching shut as they stifled their sniggers- that in hindsight, were a little too loud, as the woman noticed and turned towards them with a storm in her eyes.

Patrick's choked a little, before smiling awkwardly and letting his mind race for an excuse as to why he and his friends were laughing like maniacs at her.

 

 

"Uh- sorry, we're uh- we're mormons."

 

 

The other three only laughed harder, practically doubling over as they stumbled away with rasps of ' _WHAT?_ ', and ' _Patrick, Jesus Christ-_ '. The redhead glanced back over his shoulder as he tried to calm himself down, eyes finding the woman who, after a few minutes of stomping around furiously- spotted her goddamn car.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Mr. Pickles fun time abortion clinic, we'll bring out the kid in you."

 

The phone call clicked to an end, and the four burst into loud laughter that echoed and bounced off of the tree trunks and leaves. As Pete wiped his eyes, Joe tossed his phone back to him, with a call of- "It's your turn, dude."

 

"' _We'll bring out the kid in you_ '- Oh god, that was horrible, dude." Patrick grimaced, but laughs betrayed his facade, as he chewed on another piece of the large pizza they'd ordered through giggles, whilst they'd still been losing their shit over the woman's car.

Eventually, they'd decided to return to the forest, and go sit by the pretty lake they'd found on the first day.

 

Indeed, Pete never thought he'd of ended up here of his own volition, but he was so glad he had. He'd never had such a good day before, he was sure of it. He'd laughed so hard his sides still ached and twitched with all the aftershocks.

Some part of Pete was amazed; He'd completely given up his own friends, his own hobbies- hell, he'd even given up that group of girls that flitted around him every day, just to hang out with a stoner, a nerd, and a theatre kid.

 

And Pete had never been happier.

 

With a content hum, Pete nodded at Joe, and sighed out his last giggles, eyes squinting as he tried to think up something to match. As soon as whiskey browns lit up, the other three gave expectant 'ooh's and improvised unmatched drum rolls on their knees and on the cardboard pizza box.

Punching in another random number, Pete held the device between them and grinned, but as soon as the call connected- everything but seriousness melted away from Pete in a split second; Pete was really fucking good at pranks.

 

"Hello? Who is this?"

 

It sounded like a kind, probably middle-aged lady; Pete could practically see her there with her knitting needles and cookies and dog- naive to the fact that she was about to be told a...disturbing, tale.

 

"Hey, uh- this is Jason." The other three were already stifling giggles.

 

"Oh, hello dear, do you-"

 

"Uh yeah- can I tell you a story?"

 

"Uh- of course, go ahead dear."

 

" _I feel so bad_." Joe's whisper was tiny, but made Pete's blank eyes falter for a second, grin spreading on his face, just before he forced it away.

 

"As time passes, and life continues to fly by. I sit down with myself and ponder the terrible decisions that I have made."

 

The other three giggled harder, hiding and stifling behind their hands and through mouthfuls of pizza.

 

"Oh, I'm sure they're not _terrible_ dear."

 

"They are, ma'am. Ever since that day, I’ve lived every second of my life in depression while being shrouded by suicidal thoughts."

 

"Oh my god, Pete-" Andy's face dropped into his hands, shaking his head as he tried to glance up again, through the woman's insistences of offering help.

 

 

 

"The life I am speaking about, is me becoming a Jake Pauler."

 

 

 

Three strangled, choked and spluttered laughs rang out, swiftly hidden behind arms as they doubled over. Pete's facade twitched, but he continued.

 

"One day, on a typical night exploring the depths of Youtube, I came across one of his videos and my curiosities got me locked into this video. After watching, I knew his levels of cancer and toxicity, however, I couldn’t resist his beautiful levels of talent."

 

"Jesus- Pete- please, I'm-"

"Oh fuck-"

 

Hands scrabbling at sides, eyes tearing up, lungs gasping for air; Pete was struggling to keep the laughter bubbling in his stomach down.

 

 

"His music was a mesmerizing creation of lovely melodies and lyrics that can compare to the poetry levels of Shakespeare."

 

"Pete, _no_ -"

"Oh my god-

 

 

"When I heard “Quavo, you should take your mask off.” I was charmed, as no one else in modern society could think of more clever lines. After this, I explored more into his video blogging adventures and soon, I fell in love with the young ex-Disney sensation."

 

"Oh nice. Jete- that's my new otp."

"Fucking hell, _Joe_ -"

Pete struggled, eyes clamping shut, before he powered through his laughter to keep speaking.

 

 

"He was my way of life and soon I found myself surrounded in Jake Paul fan art and posters, I was even reading fan-fiction about him and he became my life. However, this lifestyle forever ruined me, as a Jake Pauler, I force myself to watch his daily vlogs and cry after each video, regretting the mistakes I have made. I check social media, looking at all of the horrendous content produced by the young fans."

 

The other three looked up with wide, trembling eyes, waiting for the inevitable punchline.

 

 

 

"I’ve tried constantly to end my ties with him, but I just cannot. For it is a lifestyle, “It’s everyday bro."”

 

 

 

Patrick, Andy and Joe died.

  
Hunching over and finally collapsing into silent, almost painful laughter, the four laughed manically as Pete bid a brief farewell and ended the call- tipping his head back and bursting into laughter as he passed the phone to Patrick.

The ginger took it with a nod, wiping his eyes and speaking with a voice still raspy from the ordeal Pete had put them through.

 

"Oh fuck, okay." A quick squint, and Patrick was nodding. "Cool, I got an idea."

 

Tears wiped away, throats and laughter settled, and restocked pieces of pizza, and Patrick was punching in a new number.

 

"Hello?"

 

A man. Young, in his thirties probably, and probably hungover, if the miserable, drawled lilt to his voice was any indication.

 

"Hi. What's the perfect crime?"

 

The others furrowed their brows at Patrick, but the redhead only shook his head assuringly and continued.

 

"Uh, I dunno. Like, getting rid of all the evid-"

 

"False. I break into Tiffany's at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No, I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It's her father's business. She's Tiffany."

 

"Ooh, drama."

"Where the hell are you going with this, Patrick?"

Patrick didn't answer, face revealing nothing as he kept reeling of the quickly improvised and practised speech.

 

"I say no. We make love all night. In the morning, the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico, but I go to Canada. I don't trust her. Besides, I like the cold."

 

"Oh my god dude-"

"Player-"

"That's brutal, oh my-"

 

"Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting. I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. She's been waiting for me all these years. She's never taken another lover."

 

The man's voice rung out again, "Uh, okay." Patrick wasn't deterred.

 

"I don't care. I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier."

 

Patrick ended the call, and the four burst into laughter again.

 

"Holy shit-"

"Stone cold, Patrick."

"Poor Tiffany, dude-"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the sky finally went dark, the quartet had finally reached the gates at the edge of the forest; Considering what'd happened last time they'd stayed in the forest too long, they weren't eager to deal with a repetition.

  
"Alright guys, see ya tomorrow?" Pete quirked an eyebrow as he smiled over at the other three- who nodded and hummed in agreement. Joe cocked his head, "Your house, then?"

Pete nodded once more, and the four finally split away with broad smiles and glances towards each other.

 

"Bye guys."

 

"See ya tomorrow."

 

"G'bye dudes."

 

"Goodnight dudes."

 

 

It had been the best day Pete had had in a long time, and he hoped to have many more. Every day he'd spent with them so far had been, amazing- Pete had never felt so consistently _good_. Anyone else might question his abandonment of his old friends, but despite what anyone glanced at, or whispered behind their backs- Pete was _happy_.

 

 

 

He'd never been happier.

 

 


	8. Who Ya Gonna Call?

 

"Welcome to my humble abode, boys."

 

"Nothing humble about it," Joe's mumble was accompanied by a good-natured roll of his eyes as he paced into the house, ears ringing with Patrick's and Andy's footsteps beside his own.

Pete's laugh was a little faint as he led them forwards with strides, leaving the slightly hesitant steps of the others behind. Joe glanced around once more; The house hadn't gotten any less impressive since last time. Sleek, sharp and bright, a blend of sweet-smelling wooden slats and something clear, shiny and white.

 

They'd ended up in the living room by default, and as Pete quickly assured them to ' _chill the hell out guys_ ', the other three dropped their rucksacks- heavy and bulging with boxes, films and random shit they'd considered necessary for the evening, and let the tension in their shoulders drop; Pete was their friend, after all, and Joe decided he'd take full advantage of having a friend with a fuckhuge house.

 

"Okay, so- let's cut all the awkward shit short and go watch something."

 

Pete ignored Patrick's amused scoff and nodded towards the stairs as he bounced up them, swiftly leading the trio up the stairs, before surging through the- as Patrick indignantly pointed out, ' _double doors_ ' of his room.

 

Pete's parents had made an attempt to keep Pete's room in line with the aesthetic of rest of the house, but quite obviously, Pete fought that mission with every heartbeat; Well, that was if the clothes strewn in odd places, the cups and mugs on the window sill, and the music and sport posters which chipped away at meticulously applied paint, were any indication.

 

But below the general layers of teenage mess, Joe could tell Pete's room alone- and its contents, probably cost more than his family's entire house.

 

A bed that was way too big for someone as skinny as Pete sat under a window that was just as enormous; Daylight was blocked out with an American flag, draped over the glass and shading the light that shone through red, cream and blue.

There were instruments everywhere, there was a wall embedded with a bookcase, there was _a desk_ \- and it came as a total shock to Joe. He'd been under the impression Pete's mental capabilities began and ended at soccer.

 

However, putting everything else shiny, quality and expensive to shame- was the TV.

 

Joe didn't even know they made screens that big- well, apart from cinema screens; And under it, sat the comfiest looking couch and beanbags Joe had ever laid eyes on, and on a shallow table in the middle of the cluster of chairs, the TV was paired off with every gadget or console on the market.

 

All in all, it was just really unfair.

 

"Alright, you bring any films, Trohman?"

 

Shaking himself out of jealousy tinged, admiration mode, Joe nodded and made quick work of shrugging his rucksack off of his shoulders. "Yeah, memory stick's full." Joe fished his usb from his rucksack, before pacing over to Pete and handing it over.

The dark-haired boy made a happy noise and pretty much bounced over to the piles of devices under the enormous television as the trio sat down on the long, soft couch.

 

Joe had been absolutely right, it was the comfiest fucking thing he'd ever sat on.

 

As the screen came to life and displayed neat little boxes, reading titles and displaying thumbnails for all kinds of messed up shit, Joe wondered just how much more horrifying it'd be to watch all the gore those films promised on such a huge scale.

He glanced over at Pete, who promptly crashed next to them with the controller in his hands, and then over at Andy and Patrick, who were contently nuzzling into their own hoodies and smiling easily...no doubt at how fucking soft this couch was, _fuck_ -

 

"Okay, so-" Pete quirked an eyebrow at Joe, "Any suggestions?"

 

Joe's gaze, along with three others, shifted back towards the screen, reading over the boxes and their screens with tilted heads; The Conjuring, The Neon Demon, Ouija, Goodnight Mommy, Raw, As Above So Below, The Witch-

 

"Oh shit, Patrick's scared of witches- we're doing that one first-"

 

"Fuck you, Pete-"

 

"Okay okay- hang on-" Joe plucked the controller out of Pete's hands and passed it to Andy; The boy cocked his head for a moment, before taking the reigns and seemingly cottoning onto what Joe wanted him to do.

Andy crinkled his eyes shut, flicking the joysticks randomly and listening to the loud noises that told him boxes were shifting, before-

 

He pressed a button, and a film started rolling.

 

_Mother!_

 

The audio boomed all around the room, encircling them, trapping them- making it all feel way too real for comfort.

 

 

"Fuck your surround sound dude."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The film's credits rolled down the screen, white letters detailing all the people who'd worked so hard to bring the movie to life. All that hard work, all that effort, all that dedication...for-

 

"They ate the baby."

 

Pete was more pale-faced than Joe had ever seen him, eyes wide and still locked on the screen- where a tangle of dead baby had been a moment before.

Joe turned his head to Andy and Patrick; Pale, hands and fists pressing over mouths, tinged with nausea. Joe was pretty sure _he_ looked the same.

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the credits move back to the menu of films Joe had... _not so legally_ acquired, before Andy clicked his finger, pointing at the screen accusingly.

"That was about Jesus."

 

"What?"

"Dude-"

"How-"

 

"No no no-" Andy's eyes were wide and held glints of determination, leaning forwards and searching for two blue gazes and a brown, he eagerly explained his theory. "The baby was Jesus- like, he got eaten and shit- the guy was God, the mob was humanity, the woman was Mother Ear-"

 

" _OHHH_ -"

"Oh fuck that makes sense-"

"AND THAT'S WHY IT'S CALLED MOTHER- That's so fucking smart, dude."

 

Satisfied beams took the places of horrified grimaces in a split second, all before small chimes of what to watch next filled the room. They'd discussed, disputed, made valid points for their favoured films- all through Patrick's desperate pleads to refrain from watching anything pertaining to witches.

But much to his dismay, they eventually got through all the films- even the ones about witches.

Their minds were exhausted, yet jittery and horror-buzzed when the clock rang 11pm. There was silence, as though they were all just realizing how fucking crazy their nightmares were gonna be tonight, when Pete's words cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter.

 

"I have an idea."

 

Now, when Pete usually had an idea, Patrick would be very quick to dismiss it- and that would coax Joe and Andy into doing the same. This time, however, the low, promising words were paired with dark, mischievous eyes and an easy, eager half-grin.

 

Andy raised his eyebrows, "Is is a good idea?"

 

All the intrigue that hung over Pete like an enticing lightning cloud melted away into a light, cheery and sarcastic voice again. "Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves-"

 

"Pete-"

"Dude, if you're gonna start, don't just-"

"Let's hear it then."

 

The mystery returned. Pete hunched forwards, eyes glinting and teeth bright in the light tinted by their nation's flag. "It's a game."

 

"...If this turns into some 'boy scouts' 'repressed memory' situation, I'm-"

 

The four spluttered into laughter before Patrick's sentence was over, fingers pinching at bridges, eyes tearing- but it all quickly fell away as Pete's grin returned.

 

"It's called, ' _Hide and Seek Alone_ '."

 

"...But, we're not...alone…?"

 

Pete rolled his eyes, but the grin remained as he plucked his phone off of the shallow table in front of them, fingers working quickly before he held up a list of rules to the others. "It's like, a ritual."

 

Patrick's answer was instantaneous.

 

"No."

 

"But Patrick-"

 

"No."

 

Joe squinted at the list, and as he read more and more of the ritual, the more interested he became. With a grin over at Patrick, Joe reached an arm across the back of Andy's shoulders to poke Patrick- _just_ noticing Andy's Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he did so. Huh, weird...why was-

 

"No, Joe- I don't fuck with rituals, alright-"

 

"But Patrick- Patrick-" Pete's convicting pleads were laced with firm protests of 'No' from Patrick, but the dark-haired boy refused to give up- and as soon as Joe had started contributing to his efforts, Pete's grin only grew wider, and his argument only got stronger.

 

"Patrick, think about it- look, it's really cool, and besides, nothing'll happen-"

 

"Yeah, and if anything does for some reason- we literally have superpowers, we can kick the shit out of any ghost that-"

 

"Patrick?"

 

Andy's voice.

 

Joe certainly hadn't expected that, and from Pete's sudden brow jolt- he hadn't either.

 

The redhead squinted, but his voice grew more gentle. He was really bad at denying Andy- hell, everyone was bad at denying Andy. He was just that kind of guy you felt like shit for saying 'no' to. "Yeah?"

 

"I know you don't like witch stuff, and rituals- but _really_ , most of it's just a placebo effect."

 

The ginger tilted his head, sparing a glare over at Pete before dragging a newly softened gaze back at Andy; Holy shit, Andy was really winning him over. Joe shared a shocked glance with Pete- who looked half measures disbelieving and amazed.

 

"If it's not real, then why do it in the first place?" Patrick's arms were folded over his chest, his lips were pulled tight and his eyes were shrouded by a furrowed brow; He looked like a complete and utter brat, and from the white flash of Pete's grin in the corner of his eye, Joe assumed the dark-haired boy found it impossibly endearing as his voice rang out again, with his perfectly reasonable explanation.

 

 

 

"I just wanna freak Drew out."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You're probably wondering how I ended up in this situation."

 

Patrick reeled off the words to Pete's camera in the most deadpan voice he could muster, coaxing stifled giggles from the other three as the lens moved off of Patrick- and towards the dark hallway instead. Pete had insisted on filming, with the claim 'This is gonna be the next Blair Witch' truly freaking Patrick out.

 

"Okay so, where are we gonna find a doll?"

 

"Uh-"

 

"Do you have a collection we should know about Pete?"

 

" _Fuck you_ -" Pete dissolved into laughter and the others followed him as they paced over to another set of double doors. With a shove, the doors gave and Pete strode in like he owned the place- whereas the trio followed with a bit more hesitation in their steps.

 

The room was very obviously Pete's sister's; White and pink, canopy bed, beanbags, toys, mirrors- Joe idly thought of his own little sister's room, modest, flowery and plain. He wondered if all this stuff made Pete's sister any happier than Lauren.

 

"Okay…" Pete strode over to a series of white wire bowl-shaped structures that hung on the wall, and that were full to the brim and almost flowing with stuffed toys and dolls. "Hey guys-" Pete glanced over his shoulder, nodding them over. "What d'you think'll be funniest?"

Andy quirked an eyebrow as his eyes swept over the masses of pastel cuddly toys; Admittedly, he felt a little bad about destroying a little girl's toy for the purposes of a few laughs. "What d'you mean 'funniest'?"

 

"Like, what would look funniest possessed by a demon?"

 

"Oh fuck that."

 

Patrick let out a puff of hot, annoyed air, pacing irritably as he exhaled sharply, waiting for Pete, Joe and Andy to make up their goddamn minds and get this little game over with.

 

"Uh...I dunno, maybe-"

 

"Oh my god." Joe's eyes shot wide as he plucked a doll out of one of the baskets, holding it up and-

 

"A Raggedy Ann doll?" Patrick's jaw was wide and his eyes were incredulous. "Are you all actually braindead?"

 

Pete was laughing manically and silently, gasping for air as he clapped a hand on Joe's shoulder with an approving nod. "Oh fuck-" He giggled through his rasped words once more, "Annabelle part two, baby."

 

Patrick squinted. "If I die, I'm gonna make your life a living-"

 

A loud, frantic knock rang through the house, and all four of them jumped three feet in the air, before-

 

"What the fuck-"

"There's already demons here, what-"

"Pete, _eXPLAIN_ -"

 

"Chill." Pete was silent as he moved forwards and out of the room, quickly followed by the others as he cantered down the stairs with practised footfalls. He skidded to a stop on the polished floor as soon as he'd reached the door, hand looping around the handle and twisting, swinging open to reveal-

 

"Hillary?"

 

Joe, along with Patrick and Andy, peeked past Pete. Hillary was his spitting image- Pete's parents were really consistent in their kids' appearances; Toothy, white mouths, golden tan skin, skinny legs, short frames, and dark brown hair that could easily be mistaken for black under the wrong lighting.

Only, _unlike_ Pete, Hillary's hazel brown eyes were ringed with red, and they were puffy as the moonlight caught shiny streaks trailing down her cheeks. Pete, being the excellent big brother he was, crouched down, eyes growing wide and soft as he coaxed an explanation as to what exactly was wrong from her. The girl didn't need any coaxing, and instead, she threw her arms around her brother's neck and wailed into his shoulder pitifully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy- at Pete's behest, was noting down the scary-ass instructions for the game, all while Pete shepherded Hillary into the kitchen and tried to cheer her up with an indulgent Nutella sandwich- that Andy was sure their parents wouldn't approve of.

 

She'd been chewing on the bread and hazelnut spread for around five minutes, tears clouding her vision and sniffs choking her breathing, before she noticed her brother had company; She'd been surprised, then curious- and finally, she'd recognized Patrick.

Joe and Andy had glanced at each other with wide eyes, talking to each other in amazed voices in their heads, and stifling eager smiles as the girl almost slipped up, very nearly almost reminiscing on the times that Pete and Patrick had been friends- just before the ginger and Pete himself had stopped her in her tracks with a bag of Lays. Joe and Andy were still determined.

 

When she'd finished, Pete had scrubbed the plates clean as silence had fallen over them again. Joe could tell the dark-haired boy was itching to ask what had happened though, and since Pete had very little impulse control- that's exactly what he did.

 

"What happened, Hil?"

 

Turns out Hillary had just as low self-restraint as her brother did.

 

"T-They kicked me out."

 

Pete quirked an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a tea towel idly before cocking his head at his sister, nodding for her elaboration.

"I-I gave Emily a scrapbook for her birthday, and- and she got mad." She sniffed again, tears threatening to escape as she shrugged, trying to keep her face stone but very quickly failing. "They said- they said they never wanted to be my friends, they just wanted nice presents."

 

Pete's sigh was heavy, soft, and... _empathetic_. It made Joe's chest hurt. Empathy. Why did Pete feel empathy? Wasn't he the cool, alpha jock? Who would've done something like that to _him?_

 

"Hey, it's okay kiddo." Pete smiled at his sister softly as she wrapped his midsection in a bone crushing hug that only made him laugh. "C'mon, I'll let you borrow-"

 

"Is that my doll?"

 

Hillary quirked an eyebrow at the Raggedy Ann doll; It lay splayed on the dining table, between Joe and Andy- who were noting instructions and gathering equipment for the dumb ritual that was about to take place.

The trio glanced over at Pete, leaving the explanation of why they were threatening her beloved doll with scissors, to him.

 

"Uh...yeah...?"

 

She chewed her lip, before grinning up at Pete with the trademark Wentz smile. "Will you get rid of it after? It really scares me, but mom won't let me get rid of it, 'cause Aunt Cas-"

"Oh yeah, we're burning it after, don't worry kid." Joe chimed in with an assuring nod that only served to make the girl's grin broaden and darken.

 

 

" _Burn the ashes_."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Your sister's kinda scary dude."

 

"Lol, I know."

 

Patrick groaned at the first word, but Pete ignored it with a grin as they waltzed towards the bathroom with their supplies.

They'd almost reached the rich, mahogany door when Pete faltered,"Oh hang on-" He bounced over to a set of double doors they hadn't seen yet, before rapping his knuckles on the wood and cupping his mouth with a hand. "Drew, I'm coming in, if you're jerking off- stop, I really don't wanna see that."

 

There was a loud, annoyed sigh- not unlike those Patrick would give him. The older brother tried again. "Are you decent?"

 

"Morally? No. But I do have pants on, so come on in."

 

The voice was eerily similar to Pete's, but said boy paid it no mind as he swung the door open and stuck his head through the doorframe. "We're summoning a demon- just a heads up, dude."

 

Patrick whined in the back of his throat as Andrew nodded with a shrug. "Yeah, have fun."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, checklist."

 

Andy sounded more like a mom reading out her shopping list than a guy about to perform an ancient, spooky ritual.

 

"One stuffed doll- with limbs."

 

Patrick shuddered at the ' _with limbs_ ' part, but the trio nodded anyways, idly gesturing to the Raggedy Ann doll that lay splayed on the floor between them.

 

"Rice?"

 

Pete shook a bag of dry rice, grinning as he tried to use it as a makeshift maraca…before Patrick slapped it out of his hand with a glare. "Rude." "Whatever."

 

"Needle and crimson thread?"

 

"Ew, why crimson?"

 

"Do we have it though?"

 

"I mean, _yeah_ , but-"

 

"It's meant to represent blood. Do we have a knife?"

 

"... _Unfortunately_."

 

"Salt water?"

 

"Salty as heck, dude."

 

Andy nodded, stuffing the supply list into the pocket of his oversized hoodie before drawing out the actual instructions with a small, excited smile.

 

"Okay...we gotta take out whatever the doll's stuffed with."

 

"Ew…"

Joe rolled his eyes and snatched the doll up, swiftly slicing the knife through it's chest and pulling out all the stuffing. Pete helped eagerly, revelling and giggling at Patrick's pale face, crossed arms and petulant demeanour. As soon as all the stuffing lay on the floor like a blanket of clouds, Pete and Joe snicked and shook the empty husk of the doll, using it as a puppet and joking around while making it say the dumbest shit they could think of.

 

**PW: Hey guys. She's (Negative Squared Latin Capital Letter B ≊ B Button)oneless.**

 

"Actually fuck you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once the doll was an empty shell, they glanced up at Andy- who promptly read off more and more instructions.

 

"Re-stuff with rice."

 

"Oh dude, it's like a freaky maraca!"

 

"Put nail pieces of all participants inside the doll."

 

Pete instantly tore off one of his nail ends with his teeth, shoving it in with the rice, and being quickly followed by Joe and Andy.

 

Patrick however.

 

"No-"

 

"Patrick-

" _Paaaatrick_ -"

"Don't make me hold you down, dude-"

 

 

Needless to say, Patrick's fingernail ended up inside the doll.

 

 

 

"Sew the doll shut with the crimson thread."

 

"I'm so bad at sewing, shit-" Pete bit his tongue in concentration as he weaved the needle through the seam, leaving uneven, yet acceptable, red streaks of thread all over the join.

 

"If I were actually any good at that kinda shit, I'd definitely drag you right now."

 

Pete let out a laugh at Joe's deadpan words, quickly followed by the rest of the group, but cut through by Pete's sarcastic drawl. "' _You call that sewing, motherfucker?_ '"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, fill the bathtub with water."

 

"Done and dusted."

 

"This is getting freaky, and I do _not_ appreciate it."

 

" _Man up_ , Patrick."

 

"Oh, I'm so sorry-" Patrick's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he took his time with a slow eye roll at Pete. "I'm so sorry I'm not as tough as _you are_ , Pete." Patrick rolled his eyes again, and Andy was sure they'd fall out if he kept it up.

Patrick tried a mocking impersonation of Pete, somehow succeeding. Huh. Well, he wasn't a theatre kid for nothing. "' _I'm not scared of demons, 'cause I have the emotional depth of a brick and I'm so tough, I'm not scared at all-_ '"

 

"I'm emotionally vulnerable as shit, dude, I'll cry on any of you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Give a name to the doll."

 

"Uhh...Fuckface."

 

"That's just _asking_ to get fucking murdered by a demon, Pete."

 

"Do you have any better ideas?"

 

Silence.

 

"Fuckface it is then."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, we gotta wait 'til 3am. And then we gotta say, 'Fuckface is the first it'. So-"

Andy rustled his phone from his pocket, holding the screen and the numbers 2:58am up to the other three. Through Patrick's complaining, Pete's excited squeaks and Joe's laughing at the whole, dumb situation, 3am was upon them in no time.

Their four voices rang out together- although some, notably Patrick's, were quieter and more tense than others- notably Pete's excited and beaming announcing.

 

"Fuckface is the first it."

"Fuckface is the first it."

"Fuckface is the first it."

"Fuckface is the first it."

 

 

 

 

"Put the doll in the tub."

 

"Oh gross, it's like I'm drowning it." Joe laughed quietly as he submerged the doll in the water, before turning back towards the others- who had lurched up straight from where they'd been cross-legged in a circle on the floor.

They all glanced at Andy for instruction, and almost immediately, the soft, high voice chimed out again.

 

"Turn off all the lights in the house, go to a hiding place, and switch on the TV. Put a cup of salt water on the ground."

 

"Fuck. That." Patrick's firmness melted into a whimper as he dropped his head into his palms, cradling his head with a shaky sigh. "A fucking hiding place- fuck, I hate this already-"

 

"Awesome, bedroom- let's go guys!"

 

Pete bounded out of the bathroom, his voice loud as he yelled out to his siblings. "DREW, HILLARY- TURN YOUR LIGHTS OFF."

 

"FUCK YOU AND YOUR GHOST HUNTING, PETE."

 

"DON'T BE FUCKING RUDE, DREW."

 

Hillary's voice rang out next.

 

"DON'T FUCKING SWEAR- YOU'RE AWFUL ROLE MODELS."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy flicked off the kitchen lights, while Joe turned off the living room's, and as soon as the room was dark and satisfactorily scary, the duo joined up with soft smiles and oddly averting gazes.

Their footsteps and breathing were the only thing that filled the air as they paced up the stairs together- before Joe tugged on Andy's arm, just as they stopped outside of Pete's bedroom- where the bickering voices of Pete and Patrick could be heard chiming from the inside.

 

"Uh, Andy?"

 

Joe's voice was softer and quieter than Andy had ever heard it before. Light blue eyes avoided his own, and Joe's Adam's apple bobbed oddly before he tried a glance and a few words.

"I just uh- I...I'm uh…" Joe gulped again, and Andy suddenly noticed just how close they were to each other; He could feel Joe's breath on his skin, he could feel the warmth that radiated from him- and hell, he could even smell the lingering weed, the musk of old deodorant, and beneath it all, that underlying smell of sweat, and teenager, and boy. It all became oddly clear and separated to Andy, as though his brain was categorising, filing away that scent into the archives of his mind, clearly marking it as 'Joe Trohman'.

 

Joe's eyes found the conviction to flick up to Andy's again, and they were quickly joined by a smile that tried to be cool, but only ended up as nervous.

 

"I'm glad we...we got put in the same group. F-For, geography, y'know? I uh- I'm glad we're- I'm glad I met you." Joe blinked for a moment, quickly cutting off Andy's words for fear of what they might be. "I mean, technically, we already knew each other- like, I gave you a pen in math one time-"  
  
Andy gaped slightly, jaw falling open softly and of its own volition. Joe remembered that? Andy had certainly never forgotten, since Joe had pretty much captivated and amazed him like a curiosity that day, but-

 

"But- I'm glad I...got to know you, y'know? You're a- you're a cool guy, and uh...I uh...I'm glad we're uh…"

 

Joe couldn't bring himself to say it.

He was scared of rejection. He was scared of being sneered at, at being laughed at, at being raised an eyebrow. He was scared of being told ' _Uh, thanks, I guess_ ', in response to his plead of friendship.

Andy knew that fear all too well. He'd felt it many times. And it had only been intense, terrifying, and not to mention _tripled_ , over the past few weeks. Andy knew that fear, and he knew how much it sucked. He didn't want Joe to feel it for a second longer.

 

So Andy did said it for him.

 

"I'm glad we're friends, Joe."

 

 

Andy would remember the smile Joe gave him on his deathbed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The four boys were in the closet.

 

Maybe figuratively, _sure_ \- but right now, it was very literal.

 

It was dark as they huddled together, sat on the floor with various sharp objects in their hands, from scissors, to knives, to icepicks. They could hear the idle chattering of Pete's huge TV outside, but none of them could really bring themselves to speak as they waited out the final, and arguably _the scariest_ part of the ritual: The waiting.

After getting to the hiding place the first time, they'd all counted to ten before rushing back to 'Fuckface'. Following the ritual, they'd all chimed ' _I have found you Fuckface_ ', before each boy had stabbed the doll with their weapons.

Then, they'd all chanted ' _You are the next it, Fuckface_ ' together- leaving Patrick jittery and whining for the whole walk back to Pete's room.

 

The doll, currently and if the ritual _was_ indeed fake, ought to be sat on the bathroom counter. Motionless, silent, and soaking.

 

And yet, they were all scared shitless.

 

"Hey guys?" Joe's voice was quiet as his hands clenched around the butcher's knife in his hand. Andy could tell the knuckles were pale, even in the darkness. Hums of varying volumes and enthusiasm made Joe continue, voice still dull and deadpan as he spoke.

 

"I promise you I won’t make a pact with the demon."

 

Andy answered first, struggling to keep his voice level through the smile and laugh that wanted freedom, despite the situation.

 

"I don’t completely believe you, but that’s okay."

 

A few stifled, breathy laughs rang out, the sound muffled by the various coats, shirts, sweaters and hoodies that belonged to Pete, before-

 

_**BANG.** _

 

Loud. Deafening. Shattering. And most definitely, from the bathroom.

 

All four yelped and jumped, collapsing into a heap of nervous jitters and whimpering mumbles. Being careful not to jab each other with their weapons, the four untangled their limbs and awkwardly rose to their trembling knees, helping each other up with free hands and forearms.

 

"Okay," Pete breathed out, one hand tentatively opening the door, "Have your superpowers at the ready."

 

"Goddamnit- I don't wanna fight a demon-"

"This was a bad idea-"

"Fuck dude, it was nice knowing you guys-"

 

With soft, padding footsteps, the four crept towards the double doors of Pete's room.

 

"Hey there demons, it's ya boy."

"Shut the fuck up, Pete."

 

A glance over his shoulder, a trembling exhale, and with his heart bruising against his ribs- Pete opened the door.

 

 

 

Fuckface was sat outside.

 

 

 

"AHHHH- NO NONONO-"

"FUCK FUCK FUC- WHY DID WE DO THS-"

"KILL IT KILLIT- FUCKING BURN"

"OH MY GOD- I'M GON'THROW UP-"

Pete slammed the doors shut, all four hearing nothing but pants and pulses in their ears...But, as their hearts slowed for a moment, a loud, raucous sound rang from across the hall, muffled by many sets of double doors.

Laughing. Loud, amused and breathless. Not scary, haunting or demonic- no, very decidedly, the laughter of a teenager who had just played a successful prank.

 

" _Drew,_ _you little_ _bitch_."

 

Pete swung the doors open again, letting them rock and fly as he stalked forwards with the other three just as furious behind him. With a fist, Pete pounded on Andrew's door- only hearing the laughter kick up a notch as he shouted.

 

" _ANDREW_. OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR."

 

A few minutes later, and Andrew opened the door. He looked so much like Pete it was eerie; Golden skin, light whiskey eyes, a broad, bright grin, and crinkled eye corners. His hair was longer, and his arms seemed weaker than Pete's- as well as being bare from ink, whereas Pete's biceps were scrawled with black.

Pete's narrowed glower was as dark as night and as bright as fire at the same time.

 

"Would you like to explain _what_ _the fuck that was?_ "

 

Andrew wheezed for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose before sighing amusedly and shutting the door in their faces with a final gasp.

 

"You're like the ghostbusters, but dumb and gay."

 

 

...

 

 

"WE'RE NOT _DUMB_ , _ANDREW_."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Why didn't we think of this earlier?"

 

Pete, Joe and Andy shrugged with grins as they hid behind the corner of the hall. Pete's head was poking out, eyes squinted and focused as he breathed deeply, gaze locking firmly- on Fuckface.

 

The other three boys watched in both horror and stifled laughter as Pete- purely with his mind, forced the doll to stand and walk over to Andrew's bedroom doors, knocking weakly with a rice-filled hand.

 

"You good? Nosebleed?" Andy offered a tissue, which Pete gratefully took with a nod and a beam, before focusing everything back on Fuckface.

 

Another knock- that admittedly was more like a scratch, and finally, Andrew opened the door.

 

 

Pete was pretty sure they'd heard his scream on the other side of the Atlantic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Burn it. Fucking _now_ , Pete- or I'll tell mom and dad."

 

"Alright alright, calm down, Drew." Pete put on his best baby voice as he pinched his younger brother's cheek- all before nonchalantly tossing Fuckface into the fire he'd lit with his hands...unbeknownst to Andrew and Hillary, of course.

  
The younger boy sighed, burying his face in his hands, and Pete wondered if he'd accidentally traumatized his brother for the rest of his life. Shit, he was gonna get super-grounded.

  
Andrew refused to leave the fire's side until nothing but ashes remained of the Raggedy Ann doll. A few moments of silence passed as the group of six- Pete's siblings now included, watched the last, glowing embers smother out under the crisp Spring air, and then, Pete started whistling.

 

The Ghostbusters theme, to be exact.

 

Andrew's eye twitched, and he pointed at his brother accusingly. "Never do that again- never do one of those stupid fucking demon things again."

 

Pete only grinned.

 

"I can't promise that, sorry."

 

" _Pete_."

 

"We're professionals, Drew. It's what we do."

 

And with that, the snickering friends left the giggling Hillary- overjoyed that her least favourite doll had been disposed of, and the traumatized, twitching Andrew, by the fire pit.

 

"Anyone want a videogame marathon?"

 

Three chimes and grins of 'Hell yeah' were enough to make Pete laugh and nod. The dark-haired boy waltzed over to the kitchen, motioning the other three over and quickly stuffing their arms full of all kinds of junk food he'd totally have to replace later.

Through the grins, chatters and wrapper rustling as they ascended the stairs again, Pete squinted over at Patrick, then back to his brother- who had just come in from the glass back doors.

 

"Hey Patrick?"

 

"Yeah Pete?"

 

"...I have an idea."

 

The redhead squinted, although his smile betrayed his disapproval. "Lemme guess...You want me to turn into a Raggedy Ann doll and scare the shit out of your brother again?"

 

Pete gaped for a moment, before blinking slowly with an equally lagged laugh. "Tricky, baby- you read my mind."

 

Ignoring the nicknames, Patrick only grinned and rolled his eyes, elbowing the tanned boy in the ribs as the four stepped into Pete's bedroom again. "Are you _trying_ to give him a heart attack?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Wait- WAIT- HOW THE FUCK IS HE STILL ALIVE?"

 

Joe gaped at the screen through a mouthful of gummy worms, before glancing around at the other three- who obviously shared in his indignation. "I KNOW RIGHT? Like, dude- Ethan SHOT him in the head like, a million times-"

 

"Then lit him on FIRE-"

 

"And he ran him over with his CAR." Patrick's eyes were wide and shocked as he mumbled through his vigorous chewing of an Oreo.

 

Pete slouched back in his seat, eyes narrowing as he quickly escaped the game's antagonist- that was currently chasing them through the garage of a destroyed house. "And the motherfucker's still alive."

 

"Dude, _bull. Shit_."

 

Resident Evil 7 had started out pretty scary. A deserted, dilapidated house in the South. Filled with super mutant, diseased and purely insane husks of humans. Creepy visuals, insects, gore- the game had it all. And it was all perfectly designed to terrify.

 

But, when you were sat in a bright room, on the comfiest couch on planet Earth, lying in a sea of junk food, and surrounded by sarcastic, hilarious friends- the fear faded impressively quickly.

All the scariness of the game had melted at the first sarcastic quip from Joe, and as they'd kept coming from all of them, getting progressively louder, more confident and just plain _funnier_ \- the dark, disturbed house on the huge screen with immersive surround sound had just become ridiculous to them.

 

But, as the yawns had started invading them and as the sleepiness had started making their eyes shut and had started making their bodies sag together, Pete had shut off the console and he'd clapped the lights off. Pete had clap-on lights. Yes, Patrick had made fun of that too.

 

They'd made the effort to stumble from the couch towards the spare, soft mattresses that were splayed across the floor, stolen from the guest rooms to make a huge, connected bed on the floor.

 

It could also double up as a bouncy castle...or as a mental asylum room, Pete supposed. But hey, it was spongy, soft and warm.

 

He'd also stolen all the unused comforters, pillows and blankets he could find around the house, and as every boy snuggled into their own, huge cocoons, Pete was glad he'd made the effort. At least there'd be no punching over blanket hogging tonight, that was always a plus.

 

 

 

 

Pete's eyes were closed softly, eyelids twitching under spikes of exhaustion that plagued them all over.

Ever since he'd been born, Pete had had trouble sleeping; At first, during his baby and toddler years, his parents had chalked it down to fussiness, but as the problem persisted as Pete grew older, they'd finally gotten their firstborn tested.

The results said insomnia. That meant, for as long as he lived, sleepless nights, tossing and turning, and watching the sun come up day after day.

 

Despite _it_ , however, and despite a few other issues that plagued him, Pete powered through.

 

He expelled his exhaustion with every sport he could find. If his body wouldn't wake itself up, he'd do it for it. And now, due to his sheer will and dedication, the bags under Pete's eyes were only on the surface, because internally, he'd always wake _himself_ up. Kickstart his hormones and nerves with jogs, sports and sweat.

 

And while he was proud of his conviction, Pete wished he could sleep.

 

His eyes crooked open, and he found Patrick. And suddenly, he didn't mind not being able to sleep.

 

The ginger was curled up adorably. Knees to his chest, hands curled into loose fists by his chest. Once bright freckles rendered faded from years of hiding away inside, hunched over a computer screen as slender, talented fingers fiddled with Garageband. Pale skin was flawless and almost glowed under the darkness, and hair kissed by fire flickered under the thick, inky cover of night. A plump, velvet, rose-coloured pair of lips parted delicately as they took in and released steady, soft breaths.

 

Patrick was beautiful. He always had been.

 

Pete smiled softly, closing his eyes and remembering and comparing what sat in front of him now, to what he'd first seen in kindergarten on that fateful Monday morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It'd been nap time- understandably, always a tricky time for Pete, and one he often got punished for, either for wiggling around or for making too much noise. Pete had never liked naptime.

 

He'd been lying on his mat, eyes open and blank as his thoughts bounced around like hoards of bright, neon and restless bouncy balls, clattering and ricocheting off of his skull. His side had ached from lying on it for to long, so he'd turned, shifting onto his fresh side and relishing in relieving his cramped arm and leg when he'd seen it.

 

He'd seen perfection itself.

 

And perfection's name was Patrick Martin Vaughn Stump.

 

Delicate, impossibly soft-looking strands of blonde that were tinged with strawberries. Pale skin, white as his dad's ivory piano keys and almost translucent- but if Pete squinted hard enough, he could see freckles; Lots and lots of tan freckles that smattered over his nose, cheeks- even his arms. Pete liked them, he'd wanted to play dot-to-dot with them and see what picture they'd make.

His mouth had been really pink. It had looked like his mom's when she wore lipstick, although Pete was pretty sure Patrick wasn't wearing any- that wasn't for kids, after all.

His red knees were pulled up to his chest, his hands were curled up into tight fists, and his face was soft as he breathed quietly. Patrick was asleep, and Pete was really glad about that. It was kinda hard to stare at someone when they were awake- and not seem like a weirdo.

 

 

He'd never liked naptime. Not until that day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pete fluttered his eyes open again, coming back to the present day and lips quickly spreading into a broad smile as he found Patrick's sleeping form again. Patrick didn't know how pretty he was, and fuck, Pete wished he did. He wished he could tell him.

Although, admittedly, while he felt a little creepy just staring at Patrick while he slept, he knew he'd never get a chance at any other time, and besides, it'd been years since he'd seen this. He felt a little justified in relishing in the sight, after being deprived of it for so long.

 

Years since that day. That day that had ruined everything. It hurt to think about, and Pete begged his mind to cut the thought short there. And much to his utter relief, it obliged... _for once_.

 

Instead, Pete distracted his restless mind with something that always entranced him, without fail: Perfection itself.

 

Staring at Patrick had been so innocent back in kindergarten; He'd thought Patrick was super pretty back then, that had been the extent of it. And then, once they'd gotten talking, he'd found out Patrick liked Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles too, and that had been enough to build a best friendship on.

Although, truthfully, the base of their friendship was more solid than that- or, _had been_ , more solid than that. It had been Pete's unwavering, complete, and consuming, adoration for Patrick.

 

They'd been inseparable, sure. They'd told each other they loved each other through loud laughter and birthday presents, sure. They'd spent every waking moment together, sure.

 

...But Patrick had never really known. Patrick had never really understood how much Pete loved him. And now, he probably never would.

 

They were reaching friendly territory again- something Pete had considered impossible for years.

 

Years of pleading with Patrick, years of waiting outside of the drama hall after his rehearsal, years of sending anonymous flowers after his performances, years of sending unsigned birthday, Christmas- hell, even Valentine's day cards...all those years, and nothing had given.

 

Nothing, until now.

 

It felt like fate. It truly did.

 

They'd been pushed together into a group- pretty much forced to spend time together. And then, the powers, and then, Joe and Andy- and then...friendship.

 

 

Pete exhaled softly, head tipping against one of his many pillows as his eyes drifted over Patrick's face. Pete wished it could be more. But he wasn't going to jeopardize what fate had blessed him with, not yet, anyway.

 

Patrick yawned in his sleep, stretching his limbs gratuitously as he kicked a cover down to his knees, exposing himself to the Spring air that was starting to feel like a weight.

 

Pete's gaze went lower. It drifted over Patrick's face, slowly taking in the perfectly bumped nose, the slanted brow, the round chin- before it found his neck.

Slender, pale, unmarked, and with a button of an Adam's apple sitting in its center. A swirling urge to bite bruises onto the pale skin surged in Pete's stomach like a Maelstrom.

Lower, and the gaze found the top of a collarbone, exposed by the shifting of his shirt. Prominent, sharp, and sticking out healthily under flawless ivory. The tidal pool got stronger.

 

 

Pete's eyes shifted lower still, and his breath hitched as a chill froze his bones solid for a moment; In his shifting, Patrick's shirt had ridden up, revealing a hefty slither of smooth, creamy skin, just below his belly button.

Pete imagined kissing it, biting red welts that looked like roses against daisy white flesh. He imagined glancing up to see a parted, spit-slicked mouth, a pink flush against pale skin that brought out tan freckles, and blown blue eyes.

Pete idly wondered what would be left of Patrick's eyes when they dilated; Would the powder blue remain? Circling the shiny black and ridding the brown away? Or would the blue disappear entirely? Leaving only a golden ring that betrayed what colour Patrick's eyes really were?

 

Pete didn't know, he'd never seen those eyes blown wide. He hoped he would. He prayed he'd find out one day.

 

Pete's eyes shifted lower still, and he stifled a hum in the back of his throat at the sight of one of Pete's favourite things in the whole world: Patrick's thighs.

 

They were amazing, but then again, Pete expected nothing less from perfection itself.

They were thick, yet tight and well-shaped. The tops and sides held ridges of puppy fat, that thinned out when they reached cherry red knees. Bones that jutted out surprisingly against milky legs, sharp shards of glass in a sea of cream.

Pete imagined himself spending entire days between those legs; Memorizing, marking, exploring- committing every inch of skin, every freckle, every silvery mark, to long-term memory.

Much to his eternal dismay, Patrick hated showing off his legs. Indeed, if anything, Pete was really going off of memory right now; He'd seen Patrick's legs a handful of times in his whole life, and yet, he'd made the effort to remember. Intentions had been innocent when they were young and at the beach or at a river, but as they'd grown older, Pete's stares had become a little too lingering. Patrick never noticed. Or at least, Pete hoped he hadn't.

 

The show ended there. The comforter swiftly cutting off Pete's admiring session as it lay just under Patrick's jean-clad knees, hiding firm calves and small, perpetually odd-socked feet from view.

Pete had felt his skin growing warm with every daydream- or, _nightdream_ , he supposed, about Patrick, and as he suddenly became very aware of the slight interest his dick had taken at the prospects, Pete shoved his face into his pillow and sighed into it, burrowing further into his blankets as he tried to clear his mind of Patrick.

 

But he couldn't.

 

The smell that had intoxicated him all those years ago, that smell he'd been addicted to for years. Patrick had practically turned him into a goddamn junkie, and it really wasn't fair.

It was the typical, and the atypical at the same time; The smells of musk, clothes leaning towards the dirty side of life, the smoky smell of the fire they'd lit to burn Fuckface outside- they all clung to Patrick's skin, hair and clothes like tics.

And then, there were the scents he'd only ever smelt on Patrick; The stick ' _powder-scented_ ' deodorant he liked using that always left him smelling like talcum powder. The faint smell of those fancy Lush soaps he loved using but, simultaneously, denied buying. And then there was the smell of sweat, that sweet, milk, cinnamon smell that was just, unmistakably and indescribably- Patrick.

 

All of it- coupled with the ginger's deep breathing, happy noises, and soft sighs, only served to make Pete's hyperactive mind burst into overdrive, filling it with fast changing and morphing scenes and scenarios that drove him desperate and crazy.

 

But Pete was nothing if not strong.

 

He curled up into a ball, forcefully shutting Patrick and all of his sounds and smells out of his mind and instead, distracting himself with soccer strategies.

 

And it worked.

 

For a time.

 

But Patrick always found a way back in.

 

Patrick had been a worm niggling at the back of his mind since that Monday in kindergarten. And even when they'd move on, leave Wilmette, get jobs and get girlfriends-

 

 

 

That worm would never go away.

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Go On And Kiss The Boy

 

**We should set them up**

 

Andy wondered if any good had actually ever come from those words, but despite his lack of trust in them when they’d rang in his skull, framed with Joe’s voice- he’d grinned at them.

Rubbing his cheek against his pillow, Andy sniffed and forced his smile back, focusing on transmitting his words to Joe- and _only_ to Joe. God forbid he accidentally stumble them over to Pete or Patrick.

 

**AH: What do you mean?**

 

There was a brief beat of silence, and one in which Andy desperately wanted to shift to his side to look at Joe. It was odd to him, it was odd not seeing somebody's eyes while you heard their voice so clearly.

 

**JT: I mean we set them up. Like, on a date, or something.**

 

A hidden smile, a stifled laugh, and Andy only curled up into his designated comforter further.

 

**AH: _Why?_**

 

There was no response, and instead, there came the feeling of a quick, silent pat on his back. Eyebrow quirking upwards of its own volition, Andy shifted over, turning quietly until he found himself face to face with Joe. They were close once again. Noses inches apart, eyes wide and staring, mouths whispering and subtle, and Andy's brain tried to rationalize why his heart was pounding at a million miles per minute.

 

Joe's lips quirked into a broad smile as he nodded his head over his shoulder, eyebrow quirking quickly, and smug expression practically screaming 'See for yourself'.

So, with a furrowed brow and a mind swimming in questions, Andy carefully leaned up on his forearms and hovered over Joe's side- once again, trying to ignore the swirling in his chest at Joe being, essentially, under him.

 

His eyes found what Joe had been gesturing at, and in a mere moment, his eyes softened and his shoulders sagged, all as an easy smile and a good-natured eye roll flourished over his features.

 

Pete and Patrick. All cuddled up and bundled together. Probably due to subconscious, night, and sleep prompted moving and shifting.

Patrick was curled into a ball, knees against his chest and spine bent like a shell as his back pressed into Pete's chest.

Pete's forehead was pressed against the back of strawberry blonde hair, while his nose was squashed into the strands above Patrick's ear.

The dark-haired boy's inked biceps were braced on his sides, and his bare forearms were wound around Patrick's stomach protectively. And then, the main spectacle: Their hands. Their left hands were laced together, fingers tangled tightly and going white at the knuckles from their sheer will to stay linked.

 

They were the picture of serenity. Clinging to each other with their breathing steady, gentle and quiet, eyelashes fluttering, eyelids twitching, lips quirking into the ghosts of lost smiles.

  
Andy glanced back under his arm, staring pointedly at Joe. The curly-haired boy only smiled at him smugly, entire being now screaming 'I told you so'.

  
With a huff, Andy glanced back up and Pete and Patrick.

 

Pete had sighed softly and contently, shifting a little and pulling Patrick impossibly closer, as though he were trying to fuse them into one being, all before laying an unconscious, loving peck on the corner of Patrick's eye. The redhead's lips flicked upwards, and he gave a breathy laugh through his nose, the hand that was linked with Pete's squeezing just that little bit harder.

 

 

As he dropped back to his side of the many mattresses, Andy quirked an eyebrow at Joe. **AH: So, we're assuming they didn't secretly get together last night?**

Joe shook his head, throwing his arms straight above his head and groaning quietly as his joints popped and pulled with the stretches. Andy forced his eyes to stay off of the skin that had emerged when Joe's hoodie had ridden up.

**JT: Nah, I'm pretty sure they were still bitching at each other before bed. Doubt they eloped at four in the morning.**

 

Andy stifled a hum and nodded instead, crooking his head from side to side to work out the kinks that had taken root during the night. **AH: So what do you suggest we do?**

Joe grinned, leaning up onto forearms but pulling one hand up and loose, holding up two fingers. **JH: Two things.**

One finger dropped and the grin grew cheeky. **First, get some blackmailing material.**

Andy only rolled his eyes, **AH: Joe,** _ **really?**_ But before he'd even started his argument, Joe's hand was firmly wound around his phone as he caught Pete and Patrick in the viewfinder, before glancing back at Andy.

 

**JT: It'll come in handy.**

 

Joe winked. The motherfucker winked.

 

**Trust me.**

 

Andy was unbelievably grateful that the boy had turned away, as mere moments after that godforsaken wink, a red storm had broken out over Andy's skin. He'd hid it well enough that Joe didn't noticed it when he finally scooted back, but as he dropped his head on Andy's shoulder and showed off his newest blackmailing material, the tide of scarlet broke out again.  
Andy cleared his throat quietly as Joe's head idly rubbed against his neck, and instead, fought to keep his eyes on the clear pictures of Pete and Patrick cuddled together; Admittedly, Joe had done a good job- hell, he'd even caught one of Patrick's momentary grins, and one of Pete's idle kisses above a pale ear.

 

**JT: Phase two.** Joe tilted his head back, finding Andy's eyes with a small grin. **S** **eparate them so they don't start punching each other when they wake up.**

 

Andy huffed in amusement and nodded, letting Joe roll off of him and scoot over to the curled up couple. Bringing his hands to hover over Patrick's shoulder, Joe found Andy's eyes and motioned his head at Pete. The other boy understood somewhat, standing quietly and stepping over Pete and Patrick's legs, before dropping to his knees at Pete's back.

 

**JT: Just grab and pull.**

 

**AH: What if they wake up?**

 

**JT: I'll make a distraction.**

 

They both nodded at each other firmly, and in a series of strong, deft and quick movements, they pried Pete and Patrick away from each other- with some effort and grunting, the two really hadn't wanted to separate apparently.

Joe quickly shoved a mountain of pillows between both boys, while Andy quickly crashed back into his original place next to Joe, ears pricked and eyes wide as he waited for signs that the two had awoken.

  
But none came.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next twenty minutes had been filled with quiet whines and vain paws at the soft boulder that kept them apart. Joe and Andy had just watched in amusement, although, half of their attention had been on their shared game of Star Wars Quizup.

Andy had been amazed, ecstatic and kinda shocked to learn that Joe was just as obsessed as he was when it came to the franchise, and he most definitely _had_ been ready for that conversation.  
  
They'd just sucked in amazed breaths after pretty much guessing one of the answers- something about Luke's aunt and uncle, when a sigh had shaken them away from the screen. Joe had been quick to pause the game, because they were on a roll and had a ridiculously huge highscore and they weren't gonna lose it 'cause of-

 

Patrick furrowed his brow at the mountain of pillows, before giving himself a proud sigh and a nod. Andy glanced at Joe, and Joe glanced at Andy.

Focusing everything he could at Patrick, Andy's temples ached and throbbed with his pulse, before-

 

**PS: -built this to keep Pete off of me. Nice job Patrick.**

 

Success.  
  
Where Andy wasn't as great as Pete and Joe with telekinesis, he was quite proficient in telepathy- whereas the others weren't. Unless, Pete counted. Pete was pretty good actually.

Andy had- after a lot of training, pain, and nosebleeds, been able to read the others thoughts, without their knowledge. And when trying to set up two of his friends, the skill had proven invaluable.

  
Patrick batted a few of the pillows from the top away, before reaching a hand over to violently shake at Pete's shoulder.

 

"Wakey wakey, big mistakey."

 

Pete only gave a high-pitched whine, rolling over and shoving his face into the mattress with a yawn. "Five more minutes, mom."

Joe and Andy were stifling giggles as Patrick sighed, leaned back and roughly kicked a leg through the heap of pillows, jutting his foot into Pete's side and making him yelp and groan.

 

With a grin and a soft elbow into Andy's ribs, Joe shifted his head and spoke in a whisper. "Wakey wakey, eggs and responsibilities."

 

"I'm a vegan though."

 

Joe's face scrunched up in thought, and Andy felt his chest flutter. Jesus Christ, he didn't know why Joe was doing this to him, but he was, and it scared him, but, at the same time, fuck- Andy never wanted that feeling to go away. It made his insides feel light, it made his head swim in the best way- and Christ, Joe was just-

 

"Wakey wakey, vegetables and sadness."

 

"...Awesome. Thanks Joe."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They all stumbled out of Pete's room dazed, sleepy from staying up past 3am, and nauseous from the amount of junk food they'd ingested the night before. However, at Pete's suggestion, they'd decided to make the effort to grab something for breakfast- even Joe had promised to make the effort, despite his burning hatred of breakfast.

  
The four had almost made it to the top of the stairs, when their noses had wrinkled awkwardly, and their brows had furrowed curiously- all before Andrew had hopped up the stairs with a red face, wearing sunglasses indoors, holding a plate of oddly blackened waffles, and with a suspicious smoky smell clinging to his dishevelled pyjamas.

 

"Is something _burning_ , Drew?"

 

Andrew stopped, eyes completely aloof, smirk clear, and quirked eyebrow confident as he spoke. "It could be my hot mixtape."

 

There was only a beat of silence before he spoke again.

 

"And the kitchen’s on fire."

 

Instead of reacting in the way a normal human being would, Pete shut his eyes, brought his hands up as though they were praying, and pressed them to mouth. He inhaled deeply, before snapping his hands forwards and shooting his eyes open with a glare at his brother.

 

"Boi."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pete tossed the last wet towel over the last smouldering pan, before sighing heavily and nodding his head towards the door. "Alright, screw this place, let's go to McDonald's."

 

"Healthy life choices, Pete."

 

Pete only laughed as he tugged a leather jacket with a cotton hood off of a coat hook, before shrugging it onto his shoulders. The others quickly shoved their shoes on, barely tying laces before trudging outside after Pete- who, rather than leading them down the long driveway and grass to the gates, led them under the tunnel that journeyed to the parking lot.

 

Joe, Andy, and Patrick glanced at each other with furrowed brows and confusion painting their faces. "Uh...Pete? You _are_ aware you can't drive, right?"

Pete glanced over his shoulder with a cool smirk. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Patty."

 

The ginger's face paled. "Pete. Seriously. You can't drive."

 

Pete fished a key out of his pocket, before waltzing towards a shiny, jet black, and flawless Aston Martin. He cast an excited, childish grin at the other three, before bouncing up on his tiptoes.

 

"It's goes _really_ fast."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Well, good job, Pete- you didn't kill us."

Andy raised his black coffee at Pete in a salute, before taking a sip and shaking his head at Pete's resulting happy noise. The dark-haired boy took a rough bite of his egg McMuffin- that Joe had grimaced at a few times. The boy really hated breakfast.

Patrick swirled his stirrer in his hot chocolate, squinting at Pete suspiciously. "How did you learn to drive?"

 

Pete, finally taking a question seriously this morning, shrugged lightly and swallowed a mouthful of egg, bread and bacon. "Dad taught me during winter break."

 

There were three small 'ah's of understanding, before silence fell over the booth again as the sleepy boys focused on the appetizing, warm smells of junk breakfast that filled the room.

  
A few minutes later, all that was left on the table were drained paper cups and wrappers, and as the four began tossing all the waste onto the plastic tray that had been pushed aside, Pete cocked his head at the others.

 

"D'you guys wanna _do_ something?"

 

Andy nodded on instinct, quickly followed by Joe, before the pattern was swiftly cut short by Patrick's suspicious raised eyebrow. "Like what?"

 

Pete shrugged, leaning back in his seat with a thoughtful stare. A few...concerning moments passed, before a slow grin spread onto Pete's face.

 

"Dinosaurs."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Gonna be honest, I thought you meant your rich family was secretly building jurassic park."

 

Pete laughed loudly, head rocking to the side as he drew a few stares from a few others patrons, but Patrick only rolled his eyes and stared up at the huge, complete and brown T-Rex skeleton that stared them down like ants.

 

**JT: We have an opportunity.**

 

Andy's gaze shifted over at Joe; He was stood at the Mammoth statue, arms crossed, one hand gripping a museum leaflet. With a smile and a quirked eyebrow, Joe glanced over his shoulder- blue eyes full of mischief instantly finding Andy.

 

**AH: That we do.**

 

Smile broadening, Joe subtly nodded his head towards an arch behind a few columns, pacing off towards them wordlessly.

Andy glanced back towards Pete and Patrick; The dark-haired boy was getting in long stares at the redhead whenever his focus was gone for more than a few minutes. And then, in return, whenever Pete was off gaping at the bones of a prehistoric colossus, the ginger's gaze would drift after him.

 

Andy smiled. Goddamn, they really needed to sort their shit out. And if things went the way Joe and Andy wanted them to- Pete and Patrick's 'shit' would be resolved by sunset.

 

Making sure his footsteps were quiet, Andy backed away from from, disappearing into the crowds as he went after Joe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What's the plan?"  
  
Joe grinned as they paced past the terracotta soldiers, eyes more focused on each other than on the works of art that sat in front of them. Well, if it was any justification, in Andy's eyes- Joe was miles more interesting than a few dusty sculptures.

 

"...We're gonna be their consciouses."

 

Andy only raised an eyebrow, but Joe only smirked and continued. Andy's chest swelled at that cool, confident smile on the boy's face. "Like, d'you remember Jimmy Cricket?"

 

"Yeah...?"

 

"-Artificial conscious." Joe nodded and batted his leaflet in the air. "You're Pete's, I'll be Patrick's."

 

"What do we tell 'em to do?" Andy scoffed lightly, "Like, ' _Hey dude, just fucking kiss the guy already_ '?"

 

Joe shrugged with a smile, "Hey, it gets the point across." He grinned at Andy as they turned a corner, coming to the foot of a flight of white, stone stairs. "We'll be more honest than their actual brains anyway- sometimes you just need a fresh, neutral perspective, y'know?"

They jogged up the few stairs, that promptly led them to the Native American exhibit; Cases, shelves, quotes- and all perched on a huge balcony, which the two quickly rushed towards. Hands curling around the railing, ribs pressing into metal, and rocking up on their tiptoes, they both squinted down- instantly finding the mops of strawberry blonde and dark brown.

 

They glanced at each other, grins wide and nods ready.

 

"Oh- and make sure you change your voice."

 

"...'Change my voice'...?"

 

"So they won't recognize us...?"

 

"Dude- Joe- I'm _bad_ at impressions-"

 

"Just do Kermit the Frog."

 

"...Why?"

 

"I'm doing Mickey Mouse. We'll match."

 

"...But- those aren't even the same-"

 

"Ready. Set. Go."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**He's right there.**

 

Pete raised his head, brow furrowing and head cocking at the stranger- that sounded oddly like...Kermit the Frog...? What- why the fuck was Kermit the Frog speaking to him mentally-

 

**Look. Right there.**

 

Pete somehow knew where to look, and his gaze drifted to the right, quickly finding Patrick under the bright arch of the DNA exhibit.

 

**You love him. Don't you?**

 

What the fuck, Kermit?

 

But, Pete glanced over at Patrick again; He was curiously and eagerly reading all the stupidly boring information boards. Pete did love him. Shit, he really did. But- but, fuck- so much had happened between them, and Pete just couldn't-

 

**Go kiss him.**

 

Pete froze.

 

Kermit was wild.

 

His brain sure was...interesting, today.

  
Sure, these thoughts- embodied by Kermit the fucking Frog, _were_ the only things circling his mind whenever Patrick was close, but-

 

**Go do it.**

 

Kermit. You're kinda crazy right now.

 

**Nah, I'm not. You've been putting this off for years, dude.**

 

...You have a point, Kermit, but-

 

**Dude. He wants it too. Go do it.**

 

Pete raised his gaze, and much to his shock- Patrick was staring at him. Blue eyes soft, yet intense. Mouth pulled straight, and chin lifted ever so slightly. He looked challenging, but- wanting, at the same time. Pete was sure he'd never see that gaze directed towards him.

 

**Dude. You're wasting time here- go already.**

 

Pete blinked, brow struggling to furrow as he kept gazing forwards with a jaw that was a little too slack.

 

And then, Patrick started moving forwards.

 

The ginger was on him in a second, hand fisted into his shirt as he dragged him away from the T-Rex, sparing a glare up to the balcony above them with a mutter of ' _Mickey Mouse, you fucking bitch_ '. Pete glanced over his shoulder, furrowing his brow up at the balcony- but not finding what exactly had pissed Patrick off.

 

 

 

 

"Well," Joe ducked under the balcony's edge, pulling Andy down with him. "That didn't go to plan- Hey, nice impression though! I caught the last part of it." Andy chewed his lip for a moment, hazarding quick glances back over- all before Joe's hand clapped onto his shoulder, and he met confident blue eyes.

 

"Let's go after them."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aquariums. Andy had always liked aquariums.

 

Something about the darkness of the room, the blue tinted light, the bright fish, the bubbles- it was cozy, quiet, and personal.

 

So, when he was ducked around the corner of the starfish exhibit, squished next to Joe as they both spied after Pete and Patrick, Andy felt content. Despite the red flush on his face at Joe's wiggling every now and then.

 

Their minds were focused, narrowed, and chanting pleads of ' _Kiss him_ ' and ' _Just fucking do it_ ' at Pete and Patrick in some of the most annoying voices ever fabricated by man.

 

The ginger glanced up to Pete, eyes shifting and nervous. Hands balled into white-knuckled fists, Adam's apple bobbing wildly, eyes clenching, breath hitching, feet shuffling- Patrick was nervous. Nervous as hell. And Andy really wondered what exactly Joe was saying to him.

 

As for what Andy was saying to Pete:

 

**You love him. Do it. Look, you're just wasting time at this point. Three seconds of courage. Just do it.**

 

His eyes drifted to Joe- just as they had done countlessly over the past few minutes. It was like they were magnetized, and drew huge pleasure in torturing him.

Andy could dish out pressing advice, but he really couldn't follow it himself.

 

Tearing his eyes away from Joe- Andy forced himself to stare back and Pete and Patrick.

 

There was silence between them, their faint words dying as Patrick bowed his head and as Pete dropped his shoulders defeatedly- shit, they'd messed up-

 

And then, the unexpected-

 

"Oh my god."

"Holy shit."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pete tasted warm.

 

Yeah, ' _tasted warm_ ' was weird. Warmth had no particular taste, as far as Patrick knew- but it was the only way he could describe it.

 

It was like, coming home on a fall day, just after rain had soaked the trees and soil, leaving petrichor strong and overpowering and _there_. It was like being bundled up in a knitted blanket with a mug of coffee, listening to rain beat the roof and hearing the crackling of a log fire. It was like cheap beer and butter cookies, all at once. Something spiced but painfully sweet all at once. Something bitter, laced with something soft.

 

It was kinda like home. Warm, comfort, familiarity, home.

 

The bitterness, the sourness, and the cold that made his bones shiver came from Patrick himself, he knew it did. Old grudges he still hadn't worked past or accepted. Old harsh words he still hadn't forgotten.

 

And despite the amount of times he'd lectured himself about how much he hated Pete, about how gross and cruel and stupid he was- Patrick had kissed him.

 

A voice- that of Mickey Mouse's for some fucking reason, insistent and burning in his mind. It had pleaded, it had begged, it had reassured- and just to get it to _shut the fuck up_ , Patrick had obliged.

 

And it'd stopped. So his rational brain told him to move away.

 

But his heart told him to do anything _but_ that.

 

Pete was intoxicating, and at this point, Patrick was sure he couldn't have moved away if he'd even wanted to.

 

The smell of musk, smoke, boy, and leather. All the fault of the stupid expensive cars his family owned, and of his reluctance to shower that morning. But under it was Pete; That warm, strong, stern scent that made the alarm bells in his mind shout 'Pete Wentz'. Patrick wasn't sure if they were warning or applauding, but they were loud, and they went off anytime he got particularly close.

 

The feeling was worse. Or better, he supposed. Worse in the sense that he couldn't move away, and better in the sense that it'd been more than he could've ever imagined.

The scratch of premature stubble that made their skin drag together in a way that sent electric sparks through Patrick's nerves. The soft puffs of warm carbon air on his nose. The slide of chapped, yet slicked-soft lips against his own. Patrick could hardly think straight, his mind felt as though it was sat on a cloud far above him.

 

Despite his grudges, Patrick had imagined this scenario a lot. He'd imagined Pete taking the lead, usually; Tanned hands calloused from baseball bats surging to his jaw, nose prodding into his own, and demanding lips, greedy and strong as they stole everything Patrick had to give.

 

This was nothing how he'd imagined it.

 

He hadn't imagined himself surging forwards first, one hand fisting into the white of Pete's dumb graphic t-shirt, and the other curling into black, rich-smelling leather. He hadn't imagined slotting his lips against Pete's. He hadn't imagined his vision blanking white the moment skin touched skin. He hadn't imagined the whole world disappearing around them. Patrick hadn't imagined himself to be the demanding one, the pressing one, the leading one.

He hadn't imagined melting under Pete- despite the dark-haired boy never having laid a hand on him. He hadn't imagined his knees going weak, he hadn't imagined his breath growing shaky, he hadn't imagined the pleasant tingles that wracked his spine.

 

He hadn't imagined Pete would put his hands on his cheeks.

 

He hadn't imagined Pete would tilt his head with a relieved, overwhelmed sigh, as though this was all he'd ever wanted, as though he needed Patrick's mouth to breathe.

 

And yet, he did.

 

And every harsh word, every disgusted sneer, every jeer, every slur, every damn insult he'd ever received for loving Pete- it all came crashing into Patrick like an avalanche.  
  
And suddenly, he became very aware of where they were. He became aware of every person that had launched them a nervous, awkward, or just plain disgusted stare. He became aware of Pete's desperate breaths, of his tightening hands, of his pleading lips.

 

 

 

And Patrick felt _sick_.

 

 

 

With a shove from his forearms, Patrick shoved Pete back, and jerked away with a gasped sigh at himself- quickly stalking away into the shadows and leaving the aquarium.

 

He heard no shouts or pleads of 'Patrick' behind him, and every dark thought, every dark memory- it all became heavier, and deeper, and more painful. He couldn't forgive that easily. Pete had ruined his life- he'd reduced everything Patrick felt to dust, he'd destroyed any inch of hope that Patrick had for himself. And Patrick could've never imagined what he'd done in that aquarium.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"PATRICK-"

 

The Egyptian exhibit. Arguably, not the most romantic- but hey, Pete would take what he could get.

 

"Patrick- Patrick wait-"

 

"Leave me alone."

 

It was pitiful, it was tiny, it came from behind the sarcophaguses and the mummies.

 

Pete rounded the glass exhibit, trying to keep his eyes off of the freaky, kinda decomposed guy in the glass case, before stepping towards Patrick with nothing but determination in his eyes.

 

That kiss had been everything Pete had ever hoped for.

 

Every daydream that had made him smile, every fantasy that had made his skin buzz pleasantly, every _wet dream_ that had left him hard and aching in the morning- it had been the very fabric of what Pete had wanted for years.

 

And then, Patrick had shrugged away as though it'd been nothing.

And for once, Pete had had enough of being ignored.

 

"Look- I don't know what came over me- I just- I hope we can just put this behind-"

 

"Why did you leave?"

 

Patrick glanced up at him, eyes blinking away tears as he sniffed and shrugged irritably, trying his best to put on a facade of annoyance. Pete knew he wasn't annoyed. Pete knew he was scared.

 

"I-I just- I didn't-"

 

"Why did you kiss me?"

 

Patrick whimpered, head ducking and eyes clenching shut as though looking at Pete physically hurt him.

 

"I-I- P-Pete, please j-just-"

 

"Do you like me?"

 

"I-I can't- I can't- you-"

 

"Patrick- do you like me?" Hands crashed to the wall beside either side of Patrick's head, fingers splaying against fake, painted-on hieroglyphics and sandstone brick. Pete's eyes were wide and soft, as nothing but pleading burst from him in a steady haze that made Patrick squirm.

 

"Patrick. I need to know. Please- please- I have to know-"

 

Patrick said nothing. Head bowed, eyes clenched shut, shoulders trembling. Pete felt _fire_ rage inside him.

His breathing became laboured, and his eyes darkened; Years. Years of asking for a chance. Years of begging for an explanation. Years of being smirked at while Patrick muttered some new rumour about Pete to his friends. Years of purposefully walking past the baseball and soccer fields hand-in-hand with some different guy or girl every time.

 

A lump of fury settled in Pete's throat, choking him and making his eyes prickle with angry, hot tears.

 

"Why? What did I do to you? Why do you hate me so much- Fuck, Patrick." Pete shook his head with a scoff, eyes narrowed and furious and dark. "What did I do? Please- Patrick- why do you hate me? I don't understand- do you like me, do you _not_ like me? Why did you kiss me- but, but why do you insult me and- and-"

 

 

 

"You broke my heart."

 

 

 

The words were whispered like a secret. Patrick's eyes were red and tears rolled down his cheeks freely. His nostrils were swollen and pink, sniffing softly as a glassy gaze locked on past the blank air underneath Pete's bicep.

 

Every shred of anger inside Pete melted. Only to be replaced with that goddamn adoration he still hadn't shaken after all these years.

 

Hands shifted off the wall to cradle Patrick's head in their fingers. Pushing back loose and unkempt soft strands, caressing over pale scalp, and begging for dull blue eyes to gaze upon gentle browns.

 

"Patrick- Patrick, no- no, please- I never- I don't know what you mean-" Pete was crying. He could feel the tears pouring like waterfalls that had been held back behind dams for years. "What did I do- oh fuck, please- please tell me what I did."

 

Silence. Agonizing, burning, and worming holes into Pete's brain, before baby blues found whiskey browns, and everything felt balanced again.

 

"You don't... _remember?_ The... _Valentine's_ card?"

 

Patrick looked exhausted, yet beneath the dullness and the haziness- there was shock and confusion. Why didn't Pete remember the 'Valentine's card'? Should he? Well- why couldn't he?

 

"Patrick- Patrick, believe me-" Pete willed his vocal chords to calm down, to give his shaky words some confidence and credibility. "I don't know- I don't know, please-"

 

"I- I wrote you one." Patrick's voice held notes of desperation, and his eyes raked Pete's face for any signs of a lie. He'd find none. "I- I put it in your locker, and-"

 

"My locker? 681?"

 

Patrick nodded, jaw falling open with his eyes as a dark monster crept up his throat: Regret. Pete had no idea what he was talking about- he didn't even know-

  
The dark-haired boy gave a pitiful, breathy sob of a laugh, shaking his head as he shifted his hands to caress Patrick's jawbones. "My locker was 631- you-"

 

 

"Always got them confused."

 

 

Patrick's sigh carried the weight of the world. Shock, horror, terror- disgust, remorse, regret-

 

"You...you didn't get my card...did you? Someone else did-"

 

Pete shook his head eagerly, eyes pleading and shining with truth as he sighed against Patrick's mouth desperately.

 

"I didn't- I didn't know y-you- what- what happened? What-"

 

"They- they told- Everyone found out." Patrick's gaze travelled far away again, growing distant and glassy as though he'd returned to the school's halls. "I thought you- I thought you knew- And they...they...told me, they told me you- that you-"

 

"Patrick-"

 

"That you thought I was disgusting." Patrick's voice held a sob- but it was angry, disgusted, frustrated- not miserable, as Pete had expected sobs to be.

 

"Patrick- Patrick, _no_ , I lov-"

 

"That you never wanted to- that you secretly hated me- you were only my friend 'cause you- 'cause you...pitied, me."

 

The words had grown furious, and constant. And despite Pete's pleads and protests, they didn't stop. So, to cut them short once and for all- Pete improvised.

 

 

Without a moment's notice, he slotted his lips against Patrick's. Hard, proving, begging. One hand ran through ginger hair, fingers getting stopped and tangled by tiny knots that hadn't been brushed out that morning.

Patrick tasted like milk, warmth, hot chocolate- God, all laced and cut short by the bitter and sour tastes of anger and frustration.

 

...But as their mouths kept sliding, as their sighs grew content and soft, and as pale hands linked around a tanned neck- everything sour melted away, and Pete was left at heaven's gate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sounds, sights and smells of the world all rushed back in when they finally parted with gasps for air from their burning lungs. They stared at each other for a moment. Minds blank, frazzled, burnt, and hearts pounding and shouting directions of what to do next, when-

 

**Kermit: Well done.**

**Mickey: Now get married.**

 

Pete and Patrick glanced to the side- jumping as they noticed they just been essentially making out next to the corpse of Ramesses II, before the pair of voices rang out again.

 

**Mickey: Go buy a house and buy a kid.**

 

**Kermit: You can't _buy_ kids, Jesus-**

 

**Mickey: I meant a dog. _Adopt_ a kid.**

 

Pete blinked, a slow grin spreading on his face as he found Patrick's quiet laugh and shake of his head.

 

**PW: Thanks for the encouragement guys.**

 

**AH: Fuck.**

 

**JT: H-Hey, guys- what's up-**

 

**PS: I should be really pissed right now, but I'm really _not_ for some reason.**

 

**JT: Aw, he's having a good effect on you already! All the best couples balance each other out!**

 

**PS: Shut up, Joe.**

 

**PW: Ooh shut the fuck down, ouch lol.**

 

**AH: Uh...so, I know we probably shouldn't have-**

 

**JT: I stand by my decisions.**

 

**AH: But, _congrats_ guys.**

 

Pete glanced down at Patrick; Cheeks flushed light pink, fair eyelashes fluttering with every eye roll and laugh, smile broadening and nose wrinkling- fuck, Pete loved the prissy son of a bitch-

 

Lips pressing together again, happy, satisfied sighs, arms around his neck, hands on his waist- perfect, all perfect.

 

They pulled away, sighing in heavy breaths as they gazed over each other softly, smiles easy and loving as they pressed warm foreheads together.

 

**AH: They've gone quiet. Is that bad?**

 

**JT: Guys, don't fuck in front of Ramesses the Second.**

 

Patrick's laugh was the sweetest thing that had ever graced Pete's ears; The redhead laughed with his whole body. His hands would clap, his back would straighten back, his knees would tremble, his eyes would squint- God, Pete had thought it'd be impossible to fall in love with Patrick even more. He'd been wrong.

 

**JT: Okay. Seriously. Guys. Stop fucking in the Egyptian section.**

 

**PS: For God's- Joe, we're not fucking in the-**

 

**JT: Oh _THANK GOD_. I would've hated to see you get kicked out half-hard-**

 

**AH: Anyone wanna go see the airplanes?**

 

**PS: Oh- yes actually! I kinda wanted to see the architecture thing too-**

 

As Patrick's thoughts rambled on about Chicago's architecture and its symbolism, Pete smiled softly and watched Patrick's face stiffen, scrunch and gesture as he spoke silent words to the others.

His hands were still resting on wide, soft hips- laced with the puppy fat that would always give him an uncontrollable urge to cuddle the life out of Patrick. The redhead hadn't pushed him away- and if anything, he'd leaned into it.

As strawberry blonde hair pushed into his chest, a pale cheek squishing against his ribs, and pale, soft arms lazily looping around hips- Pete had never felt luckier.

 

**PW: Hey Joe?**

 

**JT: Yeah?**

 

**PW: Are the nerds still talking about architecture?**

 

**JT: Lemme check.**

 

A few beats of silence, a few perfect moments of Patrick's soft giggles, before Joe's voice returned, clear as crystal and _near_ in his mind.

 

**JT: Yup. What didya need?**

 

**PW:...I just wanted to say thanks. I would've never- I mean, I wouldn't have found the-**

 

**JT: I know. And, you're welcome, dude. I'm glad it was...relatively easy for you.**

 

Pete laughed softly, muffling the noise with a kiss to a strawberry blonde mop.

 

**PW: Yeah. I'm glad he actually listened. He's got a good bullshit detector though.**

 

**JT: That he does.**

 

More silence, and as Pete felt the warm weight of Patrick in his arms, he knew it was purely thanks to the two dumb- and unlikely friends they'd made.

 

They deserved that same happiness.

 

And Pete wasn't stupid; He'd noticed lingering stares, bobbing throats, awkward smiles, nervous laughs- he knew what a crush felt like all too well. He smiled, dropping his chin on Patrick's hair as they contented themselves with standing around for a few moments.

 

**PW: I'll return the favour. I promise.**

 

The response was instantaneous- so rapid it was almost blurry.

 

**JT: What- what do you mean- I don't need that favour- I have no idea what you're-**

 

Pete beamed, cheek rubbing into soft red hair with a content huff.

 

**PW: I'm not stupid, Trohman.**

 

**JT: I-**

 

**PW: I'll return the favour.**

 

 

The next answer came after a long silence, in which Pete and Patrick had made their way from the Egyptian exhibit, heading for the airplanes and engineering displays instead.

 

 

 

**JT: _Fuck_.**

 

**PW: You're welcome. In advance.**

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Salt Daddy

 

Patrick had been pretty sure he'd never be sat on the bleachers, waiting for baseball practise to be over while he waited for his boyfriend.

 

Huh. Boyfriend. That was a word he'd never thought he'd use- and especially not towards _Pete_ , of all people.

 

Despite the choice of word, Patrick couldn't change the situation he was in; He was sat on the bleachers, waiting for his boyfriend.

He glanced around at his sides and behind his shoulder awkwardly, brow furrowing and features twisting into a light grimace; Girls. A lot of them. Some wore dresses, other shorts, others jeans. Some stared at their phones, some gazed heart-eyes at their significant others on the field, while others glared daggers at boyfriends who had probably messed up in some _colossal_ way.

Patrick raised his eyebrows and squinted back at the laptop on his thighs. He was really glad he hadn't reached those levels yet; His computer, disinterested stare, cap covering his eyes, and headphones worn upside down to not disturb said cap, really contributed to the cause of not being such a goddamn stereotype.

 

And despite the backing tracks and instrumentals of 'I Dreamed a Dream' that demanded attention from his open Garageband window, Patrick's eyes kept moving up over the silver lid of the computer, and instead, quickly tracking down Pete.

 

That cocky stride as he waltzed up to home plate had always pissed him off and made him smile simultaneously.

Smoothing the ball in his hands idly, the pitcher glared, the spirit of competitiveness overtaking him as he challenged the batter wordlessly.

 

Turns out, the challenge was a bad idea.

 

Pete all but pulverised the ball, sending it flying hard and fast over the high metal fences, before he sped off around the bases and slid past home in mere seconds.

 

Patrick only huffed in amusement, settling his gaze back down as the coach wrapped things up with a loud, sharp ring of his whistle.

 

He'd been pondering the volume of the drums in the fourth stanza when a pair of footsteps made the slat he was sitting on clatter. He couldn't help the quiet grunt of irritation as he glared upwards, instantly finding Pete's bright grin beaming down at him. Goddamnit, Pete was the embodiment of an excited puppy, and Patrick couldn't keep his glare up for long.

With a content sigh, Pete dropped down next to him, smile staying in place as he craned his neck a little, squinting at the computer screen that was blinded by the afternoon sun. "Whatcha working on?"

 

Patrick only shrugged lightly, fixing the lid forwards with a non-committal sound. "Some tracks for the play." With a soft look flooding his eyes, Pete nodded and sighed happily, leaning back on his hands and letting the sun wash over.

 

Spring break had been over way too quickly, and Patrick was missing it already. Days of running around the town, playing stupid pranks, training their powers- just _being friends_ , it'd all been cut short by school.

That wasn't to say they still didn't do dumb stuff- because they did, they did a lot of it. But when school had been firmly back in place, everyone had been three times more exhausted than usual. That little fact had reduced their hangouts to listening to music, playing games, watching movies, eating, and napping.

Patrick still loved it, but he had to admit, the summer break that lay just around the corner- that eluded them for only _two_ more days, was the only thing he wanted right now.

Final grades were being handed out, subjects were being tied off to a close, and everything was slowing down and becoming lazy under the blazing summer sun.

 

One of their grades had been handed out today. Geography, to be exact.

 

The baseball team had been allowed to miss last period, so Patrick had taken Pete's marked work for him, and as the dark-haired boy sat next to him, skin refusing to burn and only glowing more golden under the sun, the papers were burning a hole through Patrick's bag.

Leaning down towards the leather bag at his feet, Patrick was careful in pulling out Pete's work- that was scribbled and ticked at with red pen by Mrs. Rodriguez herself.

 

"Here." Patrick handed them over with a tiny smile, "It's finally over." Pete only huffed in amusement, sitting up with a curious noise and a smile as he took the papers, reading over the notes with a slowly growing grin.

  
They really hadn't worked as well as they should've, but superpowers just made everything that much easier. Willing ink into writing by itself, reading more than one book at once with telekinesis, convincing Mrs. Rodriguez it was the best thing she'd ever read telepathically. It had all paid off in the big, fat, cherry red 'A+' that sat on each of their final pieces.

 

Pete glanced up from the papers, eyes bright and grin even brighter, and Patrick felt his heart melt. A toothy smile worked itself onto Patrick's face, and they both laughed softly as Patrick pushed his laptop back into his bag. With a light sigh, Patrick stood and nodded over his shoulder towards the path that would lead them home.

 

"Ready?"

 

The dark-haired boy grinned and nodded eagerly, bouncing to his feet and practically skipping beside Patrick as they took the long route, shrouded by green trees and hot concrete, to Patrick's house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Modest. That was how Patrick would describe his house.

A shrunken version of the American dream; Red brick on the bottom, white slats on the top- all separated and broken up by white windows and doors.

It was medium sized, and comfortable fit the Stump family of four. His mom, brother, and sister all had their own rooms, and their own spaces in which to completely ignore each other.

 

Patrick was thankful for his own little room. White wallpaper that'd come with the house was broken up by layers of posters; From the neon yellows of Elvis Costello, to the red of David Bowie, to the rich purple of Prince- Patrick's room was covered in the names of masterpieces and paved with the eyes of their creators.

A bed that had changed covers countless times over the time it'd been there, sat in the corner of the room. And where there'd once been cartoon turtles, there were now grey tiled lines under cotton white. Cleaner than turtles, if he did say so himself.

  
Patrick had never been the neatest, truthfully, so, despite the items in his room being light and airy- the layer of clothes, objects and general clutter everywhere, really did the whole place a disservice.

 

Pete didn't seem to mind though- and besides, he had no place to complain, his room had been a hundred times worse. Just because it was bigger, all the dirt had been spread a little more thin- but the point still stood.

 

"So," Pete shrugged his bag off of his shoulders, smile promising and easy, while spread over half of his face, and eyes dark and glinting with serious mischief.

  
  
"Let's get started."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay okay." Pete leaned forwards over the mountains of papers, notes and scrunched up balls that lay all over the floor between where they sat cross-legged on a rug. There was a crazed look in his eye as he fished up a roughly drawn list of bullet points, and a grin burst onto his mouth as he held it up to Patrick. "This is it. This is the definitive list."

Patrick, with a squint and grin to match, nodded eagerly, taking the raggedy piece of paper and reading over the comprehensive steps they'd take to get Joe and Andy together.

 

Patrick knew what they'd done. Oh yeah. _He knew_.

 

And he also knew they liked each other a lot, and goddamnit, he and Pete were gonna return the favour- whether they liked it or not.

 

"That's good- this is good." Patrick nodded again, blue eyes focused and narrowed as he waved the piece of paper idly. "This can work." Pete only grinned and squirmed his legs, subconsciously rolling the kinks out of his shoulders with a yawn and a rub at his eye.

Patrick nodded to himself firmly, lips curling into a smile as he stacked the papers into a pile. This was gonna be great. Andy and Joe were great for each other- and they were gonna be so happy, and holy shit-

 

"Patrick?"

 

The redhead glanced upwards from his messy pile of papers, finding brown eyes that were a little dull, and a little timid staring back at him. Patrick only blinked in surprise and raised an eyebrow softly, "What's up?"

Pete squirmed a little, shifting on the floor as he struggled to meet Patrick's eyes fully, instead settling for quick glances and nervous smiles. "I uh- I just-" Pete clamped his eyes shut, and Patrick could only cock his head curiously. What the hell was wrong with- Oh fuck. He was trying to break up. He didn't want-

 

"Why- what _happened_ between us?"

 

Pete's eyes were soft and tired, and his words were just the same. His strong shoulders fell, his brown eyes became gentle, his teeth worried his lip, and all Patrick could do was cock his head. "...Pete-" Patrick shook his head with a furrowed brow and a gaping mouth, "I- what the hell d'you mean? Nothing _happened_ -"

 

"What happened in middle school, Patrick?" Pete's voice was firmer, more awake this time. "I know the card happened, but- but, if you really wanted to- if we were really friends, why didn't you just _talk_ to me?" It was pleading now, and soft eyes held edges behind them.

 

Patrick gulped quietly, head dropping and gaze falling to the soft rug underneath them as his fingers worried the strands. Why _hadn't_ he just talked to Pete? He knew exactly why, but even the thought of saying it to Pete made him want to throw up with embarrassment.

 

Pete was unattainable.

 

When they'd first met, Patrick didn't know it. Back then, everyone was just weird and squishy. Nobody was particularly pretty, ugly, or just normal- all that mattered was what cartoons you watched, what animal noise you could make, and what your favourite colour was.

 

Grade school had changed things. People were laughed at for being too fat, or too dirty, or too gross. People who were pretty, skinny, and good at running track were smiled at and begged for friendship. Who you were started mattering more and more. And what you _looked_ like mattered the most.

Patrick had never been pretty, perfectly skinny, or good at running around a field- but Pete had. Pete was a charming smile, and twinkling eyes. He was skinny, fast legs and an uncountable amount of goals and home runs.

But despite all the new checklists of friendship that had been put in place, Pete had stayed Patrick's best friend. He hadn't paid any mind to the sneers, laughs, or stifled giggles at straw-like, ginger hair, and the fat that clung to Patrick's legs and belly. He hadn't paid mind to Patrick's inability to hit a baseball, dribble a soccer ball, or run the length of a field.

 

And then middle school had come.

 

And things had gotten so much worse.

 

The checklist of friendship was now pushed to second place by the checklist of romance, and Patrick had been in trouble on the first day.

 

Puberty had done a number on Pete, but it had left Patrick in the dark shadows of acne and awkwardness. While Pete had turned into a strong, toned, and talented demi-god, Patrick had remained the socially-awkward, pale, ginger kid. And Pete, the naive kid, had thought they could stay friends.

They'd succeeded well enough at first; Pete would ignore and glare the sneers away from them, he'd be the shield against every nasty word and question. And then, Patrick had fucked it up. Just like he always did.

 

He'd fallen in love with Pete, and he'd been stupid enough to try and show him.

 

After many years of staring at him longingly, putting up with insanely boring soccer and baseball games just for his benefit, and imagining agonizing fantasies that always left him empty and miserable- Patrick had made up his mind. He'd tell Pete. He'd write a letter.

 

And then he'd remembered Valentine's day. One day in February that came and went every year, designed for the specific purpose of confessing and celebrating love

 

So, Patrick had waited for February patiently. He'd bought the plainest, least cheesy card he could find, and he'd written in ant's handwriting, from cover to cover. He'd poured all his feelings, his thoughts, his wishes into those two slabs of white card, and after almost chickening out all day- he'd put it in Pete's locker and had gone to bed with a fluttering heart and a smile.

 

And the next day had been hell.

 

The side eyes, the giggles, the mocking. The jeers, the insults, the slurs. _Gross_ , _fat_ , _ugly_. _Faggot_ , _gaylord_ , _pussy_.

 

He'd taken his seat in US History next to Pete, and the other boy had made some dumb, totally coincidental joke, about Valentine's day cards.

 

And Patrick had lost it.

 

He'd yelled, shouted, insulted. He'd stormed out with the sounds of shocked laughter from his classmates and with the pleading yells of his name from Pete in his ears. He'd ran voluntarily that day. He'd ran home, he'd ignored his mom's questions, he'd shut himself in this very room. He'd cried, he'd sobbed, he'd screamed. And he'd never been able to look Pete in the eye again.

 

Instead of eloquently saying all of that, instead of smoothly explaining it- Patrick sniffed, and Patrick felt tears on his cheeks.

 

Pete's face dropped and he surged forwards in an instant, paying no attention to the sheets that crinkled under his knees. "Patrick- Patrick, don't- hey, it's okay-" Arms curled around his shoulders, and Patrick willingly pressed his face into a pinstripe jersey that smelt of dust, and soil, and Pete.

While he wanted to say there for the rest of his life, Patrick shook his head with a strangled groan at himself, "N-no- Pete- you- you d-deserve an- explanation-"

 

 

"...I'm pretty good at telepathy."

 

 

Patrick froze, eyes wide and jaw open. He glanced up at Pete; Face smug, cheeky, yet eyes soft, and knowing. Pete shook his head softly, cupping Patrick's jaw with a hand and essentially pulling the redhead into his lap. "Patrick- I'm _so_ sorry."

 

"Pete- no- I'm the one-"

 

Patrick's words were shortened by a kiss, ended by chapped lips and rough taped hands. His thighs slipped over either side of Pete's, and his pale digits moved over to stroke over stubbled jawbones. "I love you, Patrick."

The breath sucked out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and wide eyed as he gaped at Pete. "I love you too."

Pete's grin was the brightest he'd ever seen it, but the sight quickly slipped away as Patrick dove back towards him, tilting his head and slotting his mouth to fit with Pete's like pieces of a puzzle. As though it was meant to fit. As though it was _always_ meant to fit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The time had slipped away, hours had become seconds, and by the time they'd come to their senses, they were both lying amongst a bed of paper. Patrick's thighs bracketed around Pete's hips, hands in tangles of ruffled hair, and panting through spit-slicked and swollen lips. They gazed at each other for a second, eyes blown black with want, and skin crackling all over with warmth.

 

Pete caressed a thumb over Patrick's cheekbone, lips twitching into a smile as his eyes melted soft. "Do...would you- do you want to…?"

 

It was the only thing Patrick had wanted for years. Years of wet dreams, daydreams, fantasies. Years waking up hard, aching and leaking. Years of hurried strokes, arching hips and groans of Pete's name- all under the cover of his comforters. It was the only thing he wanted, but all that escaped Patrick was-

 

 

" _Ohgodyes_ -"

 

 

With the gasp on his tongue, Patrick dragged Pete to his feet and had lurched over to the bed. Trying a coy smile through his desperation, Patrick collapsed back onto his mattress, and quickly pulled Pete over him. He fell back on the mattress with a lazy smile, giggling quietly as Pete crawled over him, and latched his mouth to Patrick's again. It was slow, deep, and it made every single one of Patrick's nerves burn like a forest fire- while sending blusters of chills over his spine.  
  
Spreading his legs widely, Patrick fisted his hands into Pete's shirt as he slid between them instinctually, hands gripping at the jean-clad limbs as his mouth drifted down to a pale, hairless jaw, leaving soft kisses in its wake.

  
A few long minutes passed, and Patrick was starting to feel a trend.

 

"Pete?"

 

"Mph?"

 

"...My mom isn't home, but like- she _is_ gonna be soon, so uh... _can we_ …?" Pete pulled off of pale skin with a pop and tilted his head down at Patrick. There was a furrowed brow, a questioning pair of eyes at first- before it all melted into a dark grin and a slow nod.

 

Pete pressed one last kiss to Patrick's lips, and leaned up to tower over the smaller boy. In a practised move, he tugged his shirt off and tossed it to the ground before moving his hands to work at his fly.

Patrick however, was stunned. In pure awe, pale fingers inched forwards, finding bumped and ridged muscles that moved and shifted under golden, inked skin. Patrick's jaw had fallen open, and his eyes had narrowed of their own accord. Pete was fucking adonis- fuck, baseball and soccer did _that_ to your body? Shit, Patrick needed to sign up, or something.

 

" _How many_ _sports_ do you play again?"

 

Pete only laughed, shoulders shaking with the sound as he wiggled out of his baseball uniform once and for all, only left kneeling in underwear. He hummed and leaned forwards towards Patrick, pulling the ginger up to straddle his lap as he tugged at a light sweater. "A lot."

 

The tug proved fruitless, so Pete tried again. Patrick only gulped and sighed, forehead pressing into Pete's shoulder. "I uh...I'd rather not-"

 

"Oh hell no." Pete shifted Patrick once more, so that he was lying under Pete with a flushed face and spread limbs. He stared down at the pale boy seriously, a tiny smile on his face at Patrick's eyes; He'd done it. He'd found out. He knew what they looked like dilated, wanting, and blown. Golden. The blue pushed away, leaving golden rings against the black. Fuck, it was beautiful. "Patrick. You're _beautiful_ -"

 

"I'm really not-"

 

"And I'd really like your sweater off right now," Pete shifted forwards again, smile small and easy, but Patrick only sighed. "No, you really wouldn't."

 

Pete would have to kick it up a notch.

 

"I've thought about this a lot."

 

Patrick's mouth dropped into a gape, and Pete only continued, voice growing softer and lower with each word.

 

"Thought about you. Thought about leaving bites all over you." His eyes held promises as they flicked upwards, raking a clothed torso. " _I love you_ , Patrick."

 

Without a word, the redhead gripped the edges of his sweater, and tugged it off over his own head as he took his shirt along with it, tossing the pair over the side of the bed.

 

Pete gasped a long, deep sigh, and his eyes grew lidded and soft as his gaze refused to leave Patrick.

 

Milky skin, faded freckles, pink, taut nipples, and a smattering of practically invisible blonde hair just below his belly button.

 

It was better than Pete had ever imagined.

 

 

The burning gaze had been the match that lit the fuse of their firework, and through a frenzy of frantic kisses, bites and whispers, both boys had been left stark naked, marked with teeth and welts, and grinding into each other sinfully.

"Pete- god, please- please-" Patrick broke his mouth away from the talented one against him, tossing his head to the side as foreign lips locked onto his pulse point, soothing and nipping all at once.

Patrick shook Pete's shoulders, scratching over them with demanding fingers that just wanted him to do it already.

 

 

"Have you ever…?"

 

 

Patrick raised an eyebrow, glancing down at Pete; Brown eyes held something timid, and something curious. "Uh, no- not like, actual…" Pete leaned up again with a nod, chewing his lip and searching for something to say- right before Patrick cut his thought short again.

 

"I mean, I got a blowjob like, _once_ , but-"

 

Pete's face fell into shock; Eyes widening, jaw gaping and shoulders dropping. "W-What- y-you-" The redhead's eyes fell wide too. Fuck, maybe he shouldn't have said that. Oh shit- what if Pete left-

 

"I mean- you've- _I've_ never-"

 

Wait.

 

"Wait." Patrick pressed a hand to Pete's chest, one eyebrow raising into an arch as realization began to chase the clouds out of his mind. "You've never…?"

 

Pete scoffed lightly, "Well- you've never either so-"

 

"Yeah, but I'm- _me_!"

 

"Well, what's that supposed to mean- you're beautiful-"

 

"Okay okay, thanks, but- you're-" Patrick paused again, eyes soft and surprised. "You're... _you_."

 

Pete shrugged again, eyes nervous and cheeks blushing as he dropped his gaze away. "Well, I've just- it never-" He sighed heavily and laboriously, almost embarrassed to meet the soft blue gaze casting his way. "It never felt right."

 

There was silence. Silence that was slowly killing Pete- all until Patrick moved.

 

He crawled up onto Pete's lap, legs spreading over his thighs and perfect lips kissing his. He pulled away after a chaste kiss that held dark intentions, and blinked at Pete innocently. "Does it feel right now?"

 

Pete's eyes snapped to Patrick's, and in an instant, his mouth split into a grin as his eyes lidded. "Oh yeah, baby. It feels _very_ right."

Patrick only giggled when Pete pushed him down into the mattress again, hands raking down Pete's back as he blinked wide eyes and nodded over at the bedside table. "Fourth drawer."

 

Eyebrow quirking, Pete followed the vague instructions perfectly. "Patrick- are you-" He towered back over the redhead with a bottle of lube in his hand, and a storm on his face. "You lied? Like- Patrick, I don't care if you're not a-"

Patrick rolled his eyes heavily. "Pete, I _am_ a virgin- it's just better for jerking off."

Pete fell silent, face staying perpetually shocked and blank. "...Really?"

 

"...Are you like, _completely_ celibate, or-"

 

"Oh, fuck you." They only giggled as Patrick pulled Pete down into a kiss, both boys moaning softly in the backs of their throats. The redhead pulled away with a coy, inviting smile, and a quick bite of his lip.

 

"Please do."

 

And that was it for Pete.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lips, hands, tongue- Patrick was a goddamn mess, and it was all Pete's fault.

Despite his claims of virginity, that Patrick was seriously doubting right now, the boy was talented. Patrick was covered in red welts that looked like roses, his eyes were black rather than blue, his whole body felt as sensitive and as reactive as fluorine, and Pete was three slicked fingers deep inside him, thrusting slowly and carefully, but crooking at _just_ the right places to send him whimpering.

 

Patrick idly wondered if Pete was just a natural when a mouth latched around his left nipple, tongue rolling the bud in his mouth.

 

A high moan left the redhead, and his back arched as he pushed into the feeling with a hiss. Pete hummed, smiling wickedly as he drew a circle around the taut point, flicking over the top and sending Patrick's hands flying into his hair with desperate tugs. "Daddy- please-"

 

Pete's eyes widened. Patrick's eyes widened. Shit. He'd just called Pete daddy- oh fuck, this was really gonna fuck-

 

Pete only hummed again, smile growing darker as he moved to the right, laving a broad tongue over the bud with a low moan. Patrick whined and arched again, "D-daddy-" Pete breathed a ghost of a laugh, removed his fingers- making the redhead whine, and leaned up again, spreading Patrick's legs, that had been making a vain attempt of rubbing together.

Pete's hands gripped pale thighs, kneading milky skin and pulling them flush towards him, pressing in deeply with an urge to leave oval bruises all over them.

Patrick was whining like a dog as Pete drew away from him completely, instead leaning over to fetch the bottle that had since been discarded by Patrick's pillow.

 

The ginger's eyes fell shut as he breathed, hands curling into fists and hips arching in a silent invitation, as the sounds of a lid clicking open filled his ears. Quiet moans followed, and Patrick finally crooked his eyes opened to find a sight that made his stomach burn with unquenchable flames.

 

Pete was knelt between his thighs, eyes fallen closed, swollen mouth parted in steady sighs, and one hand curled around a long, thick and blood-flushed dick, that was poised just above his stomach.

Pete's jaw writhed and clenched under his skin, teeth slipping out to chew at his bottom lip as his eyes finally crooked open again, mouth curling into a grin. "You were right about the jerking off thing."

Patrick only laughed breathily and shifted his hips again, not finding much conviction to do anything but pull his legs to chest, looping arms around them and silently pleading with Pete as he stared at him unwaveringly.

 

The dark-haired boy exhaled shakily, shifting onto his heels and gripping his shaft as he inched the head against the swollen, pink rim that presented itself like a gift.  
He tore his eyes from Patrick to watch the head slide in, and as Patrick made a breathy, desperate gasp that sounded suspiciously like both his name and 'daddy', he wasn't sure this would last as long as he'd of liked it to. Just watching Patrick's tight rim take him in, watching him stretching around his cock- that had been a mistake.

With a steady sigh, Pete braced his hands under the backs of Patrick's knees, before pushing in the rest of the way slowly, until his hips were flush against plump, round ass. Goddamnit, Pete would die for that ass- he was pretty sure he'd kill for it too, actually. And over the years, Pete was infinitely glad the ginger's everyday wear had always included skinny jeans. He reminded himself to praise that fashion choice later on, when he could actually string a coherent thought together.

 

Patrick gave a breathy gasp, hands fisting into the mattress cover at the sides of his head and feeling the fabric pop off the edges of the bed. Fuck, he felt so full, he'd never felt that complete in his entire life. This was the fabric of every wet dream he'd ever had, and Patrick could hardly believe it was actually happening right now. He rocked his hips upwards, lidded eyes boring into Pete's as his pink tongue darted out to lave over his lower lip. "Pete- ah- please-"

 

Pete didn't need to be told twice, and with a heady sigh, he snapped his hips forwards with a slap against pale skin.

 

Patrick cried out, hands pulling at Pete's shoulders and dragging the other boy down towards him. They slotted lips together, swallowing each other's moans and sighs and cries as Pete kept snapping forwards, deep, hard, but _slow_.

One pale hand dug into dark hair, and the other squeezed around the nape of a tanned neck, all as strings of curses, moans and sighs of 'Pete', 'Please' and 'Daddy' left Patrick's mouth. He could have been given a million guesses as to what kink Patrick had, but Pete would have _never_ guessed a 'daddy' one.

 

He'd honestly been expecting a power bottom, _a demon_ ; He'd expected Patrick ordering him around, snapping at him when he did the wrong thing, controlling his mouth, guiding his hips- even if Pete was the one on top. But Pete never would've guessed this. He'd never of imagined Patrick being so...submissive. And vocal. And tearful.

 

Wait.

 

Did people cry during…?

 

Oh shit.

 

Pete really hoped they weren't bad- wait, were there ever _good_ tears during-

 

"Oh god- fuck ah- _yesyesyes_ \- daddy, ah- _pleaseplease_ -" Moans laced with hisses, tears laced with sobs, and Pete sighed shakily, relief flooding his lungs as he dove forwards and caught Patrick's lips in a kiss. Those lips- fuck, Pete had wanted to do that forever. He couldn't believe- he'd been so lucky, fuck, he couldn't believe it-

" _AH_ \- _DADDY_ \- RIGHT THERE-" Patrick's mouth tore from his, and instead, his limbs curled and gripped at Pete; Legs clinging around his waist as he pushed himself down further onto Pete's dick, arms squeezing around Pete's neck as he gave breathy sobs between them.

 

Pete felt sweat beading on his forehead, on his neck, on his chest- fuck, on every inch of his skin, and as he looked down at the pale boy under him, he could see the clear beads trembling and spilling into lines with every thrust Pete gave.

Patrick's back arched perfectly, looking like a mathematical diagram that curved against Pete like a key into a lock. His hands had dropped from Pete's neck to writhe and scrabbled around at the bed in raw desperation. His legs were weak like noodles, and his thighs trembled as the blinding, white hot heat in his stomach grew stronger and stronger, overtaking his mind and clouding his entire body. Pete leaned forwards, mouth breathing faded laughs and sighs as he stifled his grunts, making the effort to speed Patrick's moans along.

"You like this, baby? Like me fucking you nice and slow?" His own words were backfiring on himself, admittedly, and Pete stifled a grunt as his hips jumped forwards, taking an interest in the high whine Patrick gave. "Yes- yes, _fuck_ \- I'm yours, I'm yours- ah- fuck-"

His red Adam's apple bobbed in time with his neglected, pink cock- smudged with tan, just to right of the slit, with each bounce on Pete's. The sights, coupled with the heady sounds- god, _the moans_ , Pete could hardly-

 

Pete sped his hips up to a brutal pace he quickly struggled to hold. It wasn't thanks to a lack of stamina- Pete had stamina that could last for years, no- what was really causing the issues right now, was Patrick _motherfucking_ Stump.

The way he stretched around his cock, how warm he was, how tight he was- fuck, the sounds he made, all the incoherent babbling of 'I'm yours' and 'Please' and 'Daddy'- Pete was struggling to hang on for much longer.

Biting his lips and powering through the burn in his stomach, Pete took Patrick's hips in his hands, angled them in a random tilt, and pounded forwards again, and again, and again, one hand wrapped around a pink shaft, thumb rubbing over the birthmark, twisting upwards with a rough stroke. "Come on, baby. Come on- cum for me- ah- cum on my dick- come on- agh-"

"AH- _DADDY_ \- PE- DADDY- F- AGH- I CAN'T- " With a last pound forwards, Patrick's whole body jolted forwards and tense, arching, shaking, trembling- all as a loud, strangled moan that was neither here nor there filled the room like a tide. White spurted over Pete's fist, over Pete's stomach, and over Patrick's chest. Hot, sticky, and _god fucking damn_ \- Patrick was simultaneously blessing and ruining his life right now.

Chest heaving, Patrick fell back onto the mattress, completely boneless and sighing as Pete shot his hips forwards like piston, eyes squinting and lips parted in quick gasps as he collapsed forwards over Patrick, twitching and spilling into him deeply.

 

 

With a breathy laugh, Patrick dragged his lips against Pete's, both boys exhaling deeply and still burning and twitching with the electric aftershocks. The dark-haired boy tore away, mouth curling into a grin as he nuzzled his nose against Patrick's with a hum. "So...you have a dad-"

 

"Don't even say it."

 

They both laughed loudly, heads falling back and forwards onto the mattress as they revelled in the warmth, and the stickiness, and the sweat. Patrick could feel Pete's warmth leaking out of him, spilling onto the bed and onto his thighs- it was filthy, and Patrick really should've found it gross, but it just _wasn't_.

  
Pete pressed a gentle kiss to Patrick's collarbone, before casting a glance upwards once more with lazy, lidded eyes full of adoration. "That was amazing." Patrick nodded with a breathy sigh. Shit, it really had been. Pretty good for the first time, if Patrick did say so himself. And fuck, he couldn't wait to practise some more- to really _perfect_ the skill, of course.

 

"Yeah...it really was-"

 

 

 

 

"Patrick? Are you okay, honey?"

"Patrick, we heard yelling. Are you okay?"

 

 

 

 

His parents.

 

Door- _open_.

 

At the doorway.

 

Fuck.

 

Patrick was naked.

 

Oh fuck.

 

Pete was naked.

 

Oh shit.

 

With a frazzled mind and the voices of his parents blurry in his head, Patrick pulled the comforter over him and his boyfriend wordlessly, trapping them both and staring at the other boy with wide, paralysed eyes.

 

"PATRICK MARTIN VAUGHN STUMP- WHAT IS GOING ON?"

 

Pete's eyes were just as wide as Patrick peeked his wide, trembling and teary eyes out of the comforter. There was a moment of pure, agonizing silence, before Patrick exploded with a yell and a duck under the covers.

 

"OH GOD- WHY DIDN'T YOU KNOCK?"

 

"YOU WERE CALLING FOR YOUR DAD- PATRICK-"

 

"KILL ME. FUCKING KILL ME. I WANT TO DIE."

 

"Patrick, stop being so _melodramatic_."

 

"FUCK MY LIFE- OH GOD-"

 

There was more silence as Patrick buried his face in his hands, praying that the ground would open and swallow him whole.

 

"Patrick," The word- spoken by his dad, _oh shit_ , _fuck_ \- was followed by a deep sigh. "When you're...ready to... _get up_ -"

 

"For god's sake- Patrick, when you and your...friend, are uh... _finished_ -"

 

"JUST GET OUT- FUCK."

 

Two pairs of hurried footsteps and chatters that were glad to do just that, before the click of a door made Patrick push the covers back and exhale deeply and lowly into his palms.

 

The sound of silent, choked laughing drew his gaze upwards.

 

"Pete."

 

Pete was rolling on the mattress, gripping his sides and laughing wildly, all with crinkled eyes and an open grin.

 

"Pete. It is _not_ funny."

 

Pete nodded wordlessly, gasping for air as he kicked a leg out with a shake.

 

"Pete, if you don't stop laughing I am never letting you fuck me again."

 

Pete's face fell blank and he gave a fake pout, that was obviously stifling a string of raucous laughter.

A few moments of silence passed, during which Patrick strained his ears to hear his parents' voices downstairs. He was so stupid. How did he forget today was family dinner? The one day a week his dad visited? The one day a week they all came home early? Jesus Christ, Patrick's life was over-

 

"PETE STOP FUCKING LAUGHING."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner was awkward. Unspeakably awkward.

 

Patrick had done his best not to make eye contact with his parents the whole day- but keeping it up during dinner was almost impossible.

It didn't help that Patrick had to keep shifting in his chair every five minutes; Pete had really done a number on him, and while he'd enjoyed it immensely, he could still feel Pete's fingertips on his skin, and he could still feel Pete inside him, long, thick, and h-

 

It was causing problems.

 

Patrick had been forced to will a boner away countless times, and as the silence became deeper, his bored, ADHD riddled mind insisted on wandering away down delicious paths Patrick really didn't want to go right now.

  
He hazarded a glance up at his sister; She was quiet, like the others, and instead of speaking, focused on picking peppers out of the salad.  
Patrick's eyes shifted over to his brother; He was tearing into the meatloaf like a rabid animal. Most of the noise in the room was actually coming from him; His fork clattering against ceramic, his knife dragging against plate, his teeth clacking together as he chewed sloppily. Patrick shuddered. Gross.

Then, he tried to catch his parents.

 

His mom was quiet for the most part, although, she _would_ clear her throat awkwardly every now and then. She'd take a sip of water, sweeping a gaze at Patrick pointedly whenever she thought he was looking away.

  
His dad was the definition of tense. Shoulders hunched, eyes wide, and chewing slowly. A real deer in the headlights. Oh god, it pained Patrick to think about what they'd seen. Shit, Pete had still been _inside_ Patrick when-

 

Okay.

 

Okay.

 

Gross.

 

Don't think about it. Don't think about what they saw.

 

Think about your mashed potatoes.

 

Mashed potatoes are great, after all.

 

Don't think about anything else.

 

Don't think about how Pete was literally in-

 

Mashed potatoes. So that's what Patrick did. He stared down at the fluffy mashed potatoes; Laced with cream and topped with butter- his mom had always been great at making them. Ever since he was a boy, his mom would-

 

 

 

"Can you pass the salt, _daddy?_ "

 

 

 

Patrick's mom spit out her water, his dad choked on his salad- and while his brother laughed wildly, his sister joining him immediately.

 

Patrick felt sick.

 

He glared over at Kevin, eyes dark and trying to hide the nausea and embarrassment that was choking him alive. And then, Kevin gave Patrick an answer to a question he hadn't asked- and had had no intention to ask. Ever.

 

"We were-" Kevin hiccuped, bursts of chortling filling the gaps of his words. "We were- in the- kitchen too- oh god, you idiot- oh my god-"

 

"Patrick, sweetheart." Patrick's mom, voice raspy from her battle with the water, but holding notes of care and...laughter- oh fuck. "...Who uh...who was that boy?"

 

"Oh my god- mom-"

 

"You can tell us, Patrick. We won't judge you- y'know, we're not the- the _dinosaurs_ you think we are." His dad, trying his best to be supportive, but only making bile flood Patrick's mouth as he swallowed it back down with a shudder at the laughter that was hidden behind his dad's words.

 

"You were calling him _daddy_ \- oh my-"

 

"Patrick- honey, you can tell us-"

 

"We just want you to be safe, Patrick, and-"

 

"I didn't know you young people called your- ahem, uh- said those things. Isn't that a little _odd_ , or-"

 

"Uh- _daddy_ \- ugh- _ah!_ "

 

"Fuck me, daddy- agh- _ah_ -"

 

 

"ALRIGHT THAT'S IT."

 

 

Patrick shot up from the table with a yell full of venom, hands making the plates, glasses and bowls on the tablecloth clatter and shake.

Without a word, and with only a glower, Patrick stalked away from the table, striding towards the hallway and all but ripping his jacket off of one of the coat pegs, glancing up at the dark sky through the glass on the front door.

 

"Patrick- honey- don't-" His mother's words were intercut with gasps and giggles, and as Patrick turned towards his family- all stood in the doorway of the dining room with red faces as they pulled back laughter, he glared.  
Coat on his shoulders, Patrick turned on his heel and ripped the door open with a grunt, before a tut and a patronizing chime rang out behind him.

 

"Patrick, _really_ \- stop being so dramatic." Patrick stopped at the doorframe, inhaling, exhaling, and keeping his glare on the dark, but warm summer sky.

 

"Patrick- come back inside, let's finish dinner." Patrick hated that he was considering it...But as he heard his brother and sister giggling, he was rethinking his moment of weakness.

 

There was a scoff and a tut- clearly actually annoyed at this point. "Patrick- come back inside. Where are you even going to go? Really-"

 

Patrick turned and glared, before practically melting into sarcasm and making a point of staring at his brother and sister as he spoke.

 

 

"I'm going to my _daddy's_ house, and I'm gonna _fuck_ him all night."

 

 

His family gasped, eyes and mouths wide, and Patrick gave a mock salute before stepping away with a broad, painfully-sarcastic smile.

 

 

" _See ya tomorrow_."

 

 

 


	11. We All Float Up Here

 

On the first morning Pete woke up with Patrick, he'd been expecting peace and quiet.

 

He'd open his eyes, squint at the tinted sunlight, yawn, stretch, and then he'd look down to see Patrick- sleeping like an angel.

 

Or maybe, he'd awake to Patrick wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. Mumbling in his sleep, shifting around, smiling contently- just being plain adorable.

 

Or maybe he'd wake up with Patrick between his legs, lips stretched around him and eyes dark. That'd be fun too.

 

But no, Pete didn't awake to any of those nice possibilities, instead, Pete awoke to-

 

 

 

"I CAN NEVER GO BACK THERE AGAIN."

 

 

 

The agonizing yell jumped Pete awake, eyes shooting wide, body jolting all over, and a yelp leaving his mouth as he was shocked into consciousness.

Heart still thundering, Pete made a strangled, confused noise, and glanced over to his side, finding Patrick.

 

The redhead's hands were over his face, features digging into his palms as his fingernails bit crescent moons into his forehead. His shoulders were hunched, his knees were curled to his chest, and Pete could only watch with a quirked brow as he rocked back and forth, mumbling whispered grunts into his hands.

 

"Uh...Patrick…?"

 

Patrick's hands slammed down to the mattress, making Pete jump again, before he turned on his side to stare at Pete seriously.

 

"I can never go back."

 

"...What?"

 

The blue eyes were wide, stern, and unwavering, and Pete could only gulp beneath their burn. "Y-You, you mean your house?"

The redhead shuddered subtly at the last word, skin noticeably prickling with bumps as he nodded slowly and deeply. "Exactly."

 

Pete blinked, staring for a moment. After their...endeavour, yes that's what Pete was calling it, Patrick had shown up at his house- and thankfully, while his family had been asleep; Fists clenched, shoulders hunched, and glare narrowed. Pete had thought he was gonna die. He was pretty convinced he'd fucked up in some way- so when Patrick had dragged him upstairs, practically tossed him onto the bed, and had straddled his lap with a crazed look in his eye...Pete had been, needless to say, _really surprised_.

He was also thankful youth came with stamina, because _Jesus Christ_ \- Patrick hadn't let him rest for more than three minutes before he'd be pawing at his crotch again. That night, when Patrick had finally completely passed out, Pete had slept like a baby. And he'd awoken with aching limbs, aching hips, and an aching di-

 

"Pete- I- oh god- I can't believe I said- _fuck_ -"

 

"Patrick- hey, c'mon, it's okay." Pete's hand smoothed over a pale, freckle speckled shoulder, keeping his eyes wide and reassuring as he tried to bite back any hint of amusement. Fuck, he was really curious about what Patrick had said to his family, but as he gazed over the distraught ginger, he knew he should probably keep the questions to himself.

There was silence as Patrick whined quietly, eyes scrunching shut and mouth pulled into a deep, pained frown. Pete could only watch with a stifled smile; God, he knew Patrick was _suffering_ right now, but the redhead was adorable when he was panicky.

 

"...Patrick?"

 

"Mph?"

 

"...Do you wanna go have breakfast?"

 

There was another long beat of silence as pale eyelids crinkled even more, before a long, breathy sigh filled the air between them.

 

"Okay."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Morning dickhead."

 

"Morning fuckwit."

 

Patrick only raised an eyebrow at the two brother's sleepy greetings, spoken through identical half smiles and deep, breathy yawns.

They'd crawled out of bed, gotten dressed- Pete had been kind enough to lend Patrick a huge hoodie, sweatpants and socks, and they'd finally hopped down the stairs with yawns still pouring out of them like rivers.

Patrick had to admit, he was worried; He kept glancing around for Pete's parents, expecting them to stride into the room at any point and ask why some random kid was wearing their son's sweatpants and shirt.

But, to his surprise, nobody came, and he was left in the huge kitchen with only Pete, Andrew, and Hillary- who was asleep with her head on a counter, one hand curled around a bowl of mushy lucky charms.

 

"What's for breakfast, Drew?" Pete quirked his eyebrow at his brother, who was fishing a white, steaming bowl out of the microwave, hissing as the ceramic burnt his hands.

 

"Spaghetti and meatballs."

 

"Swaghetti and memeballs."

 

"Get out of this house."

 

"That's fair."

 

Pete only slid a bowl of cereal over at Patrick, grinning as he watched Andrew eat his questionable breakfast and tentatively poke at Hillary in the head with a worried mumble of her name.

Patrick tilted his head down at the bowl, eyes instantly softening and chest growing warm.

 

**PW: Cinnamon Crunch. That was your favourite, right?**

 

Patrick glanced up at Pete, who was now hazarding long gazes at the redhead, rather than watching his brother eat spaghetti and spoke his sister with a spatula.

 

**PS:...Yeah, yeah- I'm uh...I didn't- I'm surprised you remembered.**

 

With a grin and a nod, Pete huffed in amusement and gave Patrick a soft look. **PW: I remember a lot of things.**

 

The rest of breakfast was spent watching Pete and Andrew bicker in a brotherly way. They lazily argued about all kinds of random shit Patrick didn't even know it was possible to bicker about. Hillary had awoken at some point, taking to sleepily eat her mush of marshmallows and wheat with bagged eyes.

When the bowls were finally empty, Pete had clattered everything into the sink 'for later', despite Patrick being 98% sure 'later' would never come. With an easy grin, Pete nodded at Patrick subtly, his voice ringing through Patrick's mind with a chime of ' **I have an idea** '.

  
Pete's ideas had never been... _excellent_ , so Patrick was understandably a little worried. However, Pete didn't leave him much choice, lurching up the stairs with a tug at Patrick's arm.

 

"You're adopted Drew!"

 

" _Your mom's_ adopted, Pete!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I've been expecting you, Mr. Bond."

 

"...I didn't know you had one of those chairs."

  
  
Patrick only rolled his eyes at Pete- who had insisted on finding a desk chair and dramatically swivelling as Joe and Andy came into the room- complete with a stuffed toy cat that he'd ' _borrowed_ ' from Hillary.

"Okay," Pete jumped up from his chair, tossing the toy cat away with a serious look in his eyes and a grin on his face. "I have a proposition."

 

"...Uh-"

 

"Road trip."

 

Silence. Painful, painful silence...that didn't bother Pete in the slightest, as his bright beam remained stuck on his face.

  
Andy blinked and glanced at Joe, who quirked an eyebrow back with a quiet noise of confusion.

 

"Uhh-"  
  
"Why…?"

 

"Basically," Pete clapped his hands together factually, "Patrick called me daddy in front of his parents, and can't go home for like, _ten years_ -"

 

"PETE, JESUS-"

"Oh my _god_ -"

"Patrick- fuck, you poor-"

  
Andy and Joe had collapsed into loud laughter, doubling over, eyes squinted and teary, and cheeks aching with huge grins and chimes of laughing. Patrick was torn between glaring at Pete and glaring at Joe and Andy- so instead, he settled for short, quick, and shifting glowers between each.

 

The sharp stares caused the giggles to die down eventually, and Patrick was left twitching, white-knuckled, and fuming. "You guys _done?_ "

 

Three nods, three stifled laughs, and another venomous glare.

 

"Okay okay, _sorry Patrick_ \- but the point still stands." Pete raised his eyebrows at Joe and Andy, smile small and excited- as though he _knew_ they'd already say yes.

 

Joe caved first. He shrugged with a smile, nods growing stronger as though he was liking the idea more and more. "Yeah...yeah, that'd be cool. My mom and dad are chill, I can do it."  
  
Andy took a little longer. Chewing his lip, rocking back on his heels, fingers worrying the seam of his jeans- he glanced up at the other three. "...I'm gonna have to convince my mom-"

 

"Yes!"

"That means yes-"

"Okay cool, we should start pack-"

 

"BUT-" Andy raised his eyebrows at the other three, eyes wide and firm. "...How long is it actually gonna be?"

Pete's grin said it all; He'd planned this shit out beforehand.

 

Fishing his phone out of his oversized hoodie's pocket, he nodded the other three over, and quickly held up the screen.

 

**This Is the Perfect US Road Trip According to Scientists**

 

"Aren't scientists supposed to be like, curing cancer, or something?"

 

" _True_ , but dude-" Pete swiped the page down, showing off a map of the US littered with dots and red lines. "It goes through every state- like, _fifty_ landmarks."

 

"Okay, but...how long do I have to be stuck in a car with you?"

 

"Patrick, that's _mea_ -"

 

"Three months...Hey, that fits with summer break!"

 

Pete's grin brightened impossibly, and he practically bounced as he clicked his phone black and stuffed it back into his pocket. "So you guys are in?"

 

Joe and Andy glanced at each other again.

 

 

"Can we take your dad's Ferrari?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay so, Ferrari's are tiny-"

 

" _This_ is tiny!" Patrick gestured a lazy had at the shiny, dark grey car, hood emblazoned with a small pair of abstract wings and the word 'Chrysler'.

 

"Uh, I'll have you know," Pete pointed at the redhead accusingly with the car keys, "This is a Chrysler Pacifica Hybrid Touring."

 

Silence.

 

" _Plus_."

 

Joe, Andy, and Patrick shared a glance. "You're a real rich kid, you know that right?"

 

Pete sighed with a grin, seemingly not quite understanding it hadn't been a compliment, before pressing down on the keys and letting the car flash unlocked. With a quiet grunt, Pete pushed the boot open- that practically drifted upwards with an expensive sound.

The other three peeked their heads in, eyes widening immediately as they found a spacious, clean and just plain comfy looking car that looked more like a five star hotel room.

 

"It's bigger on the inside, see?"

 

"Like the _Tardis_ , holy shit."

 

Pete nodded again, grin wide and eyes sparkling; He was seemingly ridiculously excited at the prospect of spending three months in a car. Huh. Weird.  
Patrick kicked a foot against the gravel idly, head drooping a little as he chewed his lip. "Uh...I uh- all my stuff is still at home."

 

They all stared, some eyes wide and sympathetic, others squinted and deep in thought, but all before Pete chimed in with something Patrick could only roll his eyes at.

 

 

"Have you ever seen Matilda?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"If you drop my laptop, I will murder you."

 

"Don't fuckin'- just- just shut up-" Pete kept his eyes squinted closed, mouth pulled straight and knuckles white as he rocked and struggled to keep his balance on the trash can he was stood on. A few seconds later, and Patrick's laptop slowly drifted towards the open window.

Pete squinted, teeth clenching, and the laptop's shell bumped into the frame with a thud that was audible from the street outside the house.

 

"Oh fuck-"

" _Jesus_ \- dude-"

"Pete- I will skin you alive, I swear."

 

"Shut. Up. Lemme- let me, focus- fu-" Pete glared at thin air, and in a moment, the computer ducked through the window perfectly, carefully gliding over towards them.

 

"Careful- careful-" Joe chimed reassuring words quietly with wide eyes as the computer steadily closed the meter between Patrick's hands and the air- safely dropping into pale hands that were desperate, shaky, and waiting.

"Ohthankfuck-" Patrick hugged the laptop to his chest, sighing heavily. Pete made a happy noise as he hopped off of the trash can, Joe patting him on the shoulder with an exhale somewhere between relief and pride.

Andy was quiet, jaw wide and eyes wider. "Uh...guys…?"  
  
The other three gazes snapped up to Andy- before snapping over to what Andy was looking at.

 

Oh shit.

  
A little kid. Round-cheeked and holding his bike as he gaped at the four teenagers a few meters away down the dark sidewalk. The streetlights, the hoods, and the fact that _they'd_ _just levitated most of Patrick's belongings out of his fucking room with fucking magic what the fuck_.

 

Patrick cleared his throat, glancing at the others nervously before stepping forwards with a slight squint to his eyes.

 

"Hey kid."

 

The boy didn't say anything, he just gaped and nodded with a million questions in his eyes.

 

"If you ever tell anyone what you saw," Patrick's sweet smile melted from his face in a moment, and it turned into a dark glare as he leaned down towards the boy.

 

 

"You'll float too."

 

 

The kid's scream was ear-piercing as he bolted away from them, footfalls heavy against the street as he tossed his bike to the side.

 

Patrick straightened his back with a satisfied smile, before turning towards the other three boys- that stared with raised eyebrows and mild surprise in their eyes. Mild. Patrick already had a reputation. _Good_.

 

With a sigh and a nod at his house, Patrick took the note he'd written for his mom out of his pocket, quickly tossing it up in the air and floating it into the bedroom window- making sure to drop it somewhere visible, before slamming said window shut once again.

He sighed, hitching his laptop further against his chest and nodding at the others.

 

"Let's go."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Night, bitches."

 

"Sleep well, motherfuckers."

 

"Sweet dreams, you whore dumpster fires."

 

"Goodnight guys!"

 

"You're too pure for this world, Andy."

 

"Wait, wait- lemme try again…" Andy squinted into the dark room, chewing his lip before making a small noise of pride and trying again. "You guys are pieces of fucking shit."

 

The four spluttered into laughter, the noises meeting Pete's dark room as they're laughs became yawns into comforters and pillows, before turning into soft, sleepy noises that coaxed sleep from the rest.

  
Today had been their last day of incarceration- and Pete and Patrick had totally skipped the last day of school; They'd slept through the entire day until 1pm, which explained why Andrew had been eating spaghetti, but didn't explain why Hillary had been eating lucky charms. Or why both of them had been home.

 

The Wentz family was weird, Patrick had decided to leave it at that.

 

They'd spent the day darting around to their houses, convincing parents, packing bags- before coming back to Pete's house, tossing their belongings in a corner, and practically leaping towards the couch.

They'd played videogames until their eyes had been burning from the screen's radiation, and by the time they could no longer stand the sound of another gunshot, they'd all piled into bed- after forcing Pete to go fetch new and more comforters from all the spare rooms. Pete hadn't been happy, but it _had_ saved them comforter wars in the small hours.

 

Tomorrow, they'd pile their stuff into the boot of the Chrysler plus tour- whatever. And they'd make the first drive towards St Louis. Patrick still hadn't fully accepted he'd be stuck in a car with the other three for-

 

Patrick grunted quietly as Pete pulled him close in a swift, hard move, wrapping his arms around a soft stomach and tangling his legs with pale, milky ones that were, once again, clad in his own sweatpants. There was a soft kiss on Patrick's cheek, and an almost inaudible whisper in his head, as a warm mouth pressed against his ear. **Love you.**

 

The redhead's face split into a slow, broad smile, and as he sighed happily, lacing his fingers with Pete's and watching how pale glowed against dull gold, he whispered back. **Love you too.**

 

**JT: You guys are disgusting.**

 

**AH: Aw, _Joe!_ It's _cute_ \- it's not-**

 

**JT: Dis. Gust. TANG.**

 

**PW: Go the fuck to sleep, slut bucket.**

 

**JT: Sweet fucking dreams, Whorenado.**

 

Pete burst into a laugh, Joe following him almost immediately. "Oh man- that's brilliant- I'm stealing that-"

 

"Will you all just go to sleep- please- like-" Patrick grumbled, twisting in Pete's arms and burying his face in tanned collarbones with a grumpy mumble.

The others yawned and sighed contently, and soon, everything fell back into silence.

 

 

 

And then someone started humming a tune.

 

 

 

**PS:...Fuck, guys- don't do it-**

 

**PW: Just a small town girl.**

 

**JT: Livin' in a lonely world**

 

**PS: Stop.**

 

**PW: She took the midnight train goin' anywhere**

 

**AH: Just a city boy**

 

**PS: I trusted you, Andy.**

 

**JT: Born and raised in South Detroit**

 

**PW: He took the midnight train goin' anywhere- I'm skipping loads of verses by the-**

 

**JT: DON'T STOP**

 

**PS: Please stop.**

 

**PW: BELIEVIN'**

 

**AH: HOLD ON TO THAT**

 

**JT: FEEEEEEELING**

 

**PW: STREETLIGHTS**

 

**AH: PEOPLE**

 

**JT: HOLD ON TO THAT _FEEEE-EH-LING_**

 

**PW: HOLD ON**

 

**JT: I'LL NEVER LET GO, JACK.**

 

**PS: I'm- I am...disgusted.**

 

**PW: That was art. Bravo. I'm so proud of you guys.**

 

**AH:...Hey guys?**

 

**JT: Yeah?**

 

**PW: Shoot**

 

**AH:...And if I haver up, yeah I know I'm gonna be…**

 

**JT:...I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you**

 

**PS: Don't.**

 

**PW: But I wOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MILES**

 

**AH: AND I WOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MORE**

 

**JT: JUST TO BE THE MAN**

 

**PW: WHO WALKS A THOUSAND MILES**

 

**AH: TO FALL DOWN AT YOUR DOOR**

 

**JT: DA DA DA**

 

**PW: DA DA DA**

 

**AH: DA DA DA**

 

**JT: DA DA DA DUN DIDDLE UN DIDDLE UN DIDDLE UH DA**

 

 

Patrick was gonna have to spend three months in a car with these guys.

 

Three months.

 

In a tiny space.

 

With three man-children.

 

 

Fuck.

 

 

 


	12. The Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Illegal Fireworks

 

"There’s no way to prove that anything exists outside of your mind."

 

Patrick squinted over at Pete; The dark-haired boy was leaning against the window, back pressed to glass and eyes wide at thin air, hood over his head, hands buried in baggy pockets. "...What?"

 

"...And we could all be fake, and you could just be dreaming." Joe nodded slowly, staring at thin air as he carried on Pete's thought from his bundle of a huge sweater. "You could actually be in a coma."

 

Since half of the group was being fucking weird, Patrick decided to try and speak to the only remaining sane person in the car. He shifted back, glancing over to spot Andy looking blank faced in the back seat next to Joe.

 

"...So Andy, how was your day?"

 

"Good until that fucking happened."

 

Patrick gave a strangled sigh, furrowing his brow at the other three with a gape; They'd been in this car for three days, and they were already going insane. What the fuck. Patrick had _not_ signed up to watching his friends lose their minds over three months.

 

"Guys- like- what happened in- did something happen in Iowa you aren't telling me about, or...?"

 

"Did you guys know the mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus?"

 

"…We're getting out of this car-"

 

"Ugh, Paaatriiick-"

"But I'm _comfy_ , like-"

 

"EVERYONE. OUT. NOW."

 

Patrick ignored the groans and mumbles muffled by the car door as he stepped out, slamming it shut and pacing forwards to stand at the ridge they'd parked on.

 

After driving through straight roads that curved and twisted through mountains, trees, and houses, they'd eventually decided to stop on a small, grassy ridge, overlooking an impossibly blue river, trees in green gradients, and white speckled mountains that sat like a backdrop to the whole scene.

 

It was beautiful, and for what felt like the hundredth time at this point, Patrick was glad he'd agreed to come. Or rather, had been forced to come. Since he couldn't face his parents for at least twenty years.

 

Patrick writhed his hands into his pockets, glancing at his sides as the other three boys joined him on the ridge, rocking on their heels and sighing at varying volumes.

 

They stood in silence, staring out at the view for a good few moments. Blue, green, white, grey- It was truly beautiful, and Patrick was completely sure he'd remember it for years to come; The last three days had already been similar. After less than two hours in St. Louis, they'd quickly left Illinois and had started westwards.

All they'd seen so far had been flat land packed with crops, mountains, rivers, and small cities woven into the green. Patrick could hardly wait to watch the green fade and change into something new as they drove across more and more concrete. It was really majest-

 

 

"Oh my god."

 

 

Pete was staring at his phone.

 

Instead of gazing over the glories of mother nature…Peter Wentz was looking at his phone.

 

Patrick could only pinch the bridge of his nose as Joe and Andy tilted heads and quirked eyebrows curiously.

 

"It's the fourth of July." Pete gaped up at the others, shaking his head with a slowly spreading grin. "Guys- like- we gotta get to civilization." Joe nodded quickly, eyes glazing over in determination, "We can be in Seattle in a few hours- but we gotta start driving, like, _now_ -"

 

"Am I the only one seeing _that_?" Patrick gestured wildly to the beautiful fucking landscape that nobody was fucking appreciating-

 

"Okay." Andy stared with a nod, "Mountains are cool. But y'know what else is cool?"

 

Joe snapped his fingers, "Fireworks." And Pete nodded vehemently, quickly bouncing back towards the car. "I wanna see fireworks so get in the fucking car!"

Breaking into excited laughter, Joe and Andy leapt in after him- leaving Patrick on the ridge with a deep glare on his face. He looked back at the mountains. It was so damn majestic. He swore he could hear an eagle-

 

 

"GET IN THE CAR, WE'RE GONNA MISS THE FIREWORKS."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, let's-"  
  
"Shush, you're gonna wake the baby."

Pulling up in the dark parking lot, Pete quirked an eyebrow but Joe only nodded over his shoulder at Patrick; Curled up in the backseat, and cocooned in a blanket they'd jokingly tossed at him a few hours earlier.

"Okay." Trying again in a whisper, Pete raised his eyebrows as he carefully clicked the car door open. "Let's go get the fireworks."

 

"And scare the shit out of Patrick?"

 

Pete grinned broadly, stifling his laughter as he nodded at Andy. "Neutral evil."

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Hey Joe."

 

"Yeah Pete?"

 

Pete waved at the toiletries aisle with a flourish, before staring at Joe with the most deadpan look he could muster. "All this lotion, but you still crusty."

Andy spluttered a laugh as he walked past them- actually looking for fireworks, like they were supposed to be. The curly-haired boy squinted and nodded, "Okay...okay- you want a war, you got one, Wentz."

A grin and a raised brow was Joe's response, all as Pete drifted away to the freezer aisle- which was already a bad idea in itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Hey Pete."  
  
"Yeah?"

 

Joe idly picked up a bulky box- emblazoned with the image of an electric fan- that was way too cheap to be safe, in Pete's opinion.

 

"All these fans, but you still got no chill."

 

Andy huffed a laugh again, but tried a shake of his head and a stern tone. "Will you guys just- fireworks. We're here for fireworks."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"This is too many fireworks."  
  
"There's no such thing as too many fireworks, Andy." Pete and Joe nodded sagely, ignoring the burn of the plastic bag handles through gritted teeth as they paced forwards, squinting through the humming parking lot and trying to spot the grey car in the darkness.

 

"Can you guys see it?"

 

"Fuck- no...Should I call Patrick?"

 

"Patrick's _asleep_."

 

"That, and he never uses his phone, so-" A yelp rang out as Pete clattered to the floor, knees crashing with the bumpy concrete painfully, before he groaned and accepted his fate.

He thumped down fully with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and listening to Joe and Andy's surprised laughter, before hiccupy chimes of 'Are you good, dude?' met his ears.

 

"Well that just mackles my more."

 

"Oh my god- get the hell up Pete." Brown eyes crooked open, finding an outstretched hand and quiet laughter that he quickly found himself joining. Pete sighed, grabbing Joe's hand and tugging himself up, sparing a whine at the bag of fireworks in his hand.

 

 

 

 

When they finally found the damn car and ducked into it, they were quickly met with a very awake Patrick's suspicious squint. "You're smiling, did something good happen?"

Andy shrugged, smile only broadening as he pushed the white bag he'd been carrying between his sneakers. "Can't I just smile because I feel like it?" Joe leaned over the passenger seat, quipping in helpfully.

 

"Pete tripped and fell in the parking lot."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe could hardly tear his eyes from the fireworks. The colours were bright, blinding, and almost hurt his eyes against the inky sky, and the whistles and bangs they made as they rose there caused prickles on his skin.

 

After some deliberation, they'd decided to take advantage of Seattle's show first, before heading down a rural road and lighting their own.

 

Another bang, and blue sparks erupted across the sky, bathing everything and everyone below in a royal tint.

 

Cross legged on the park bench, Joe glanced to his sides, eyes thankful for the break from the brightness of the gunpowder.

 

Patrick's head was leaning on Pete's shoulder, eyes cast upwards in more admiration than surprise. Pete however...his eyes were wide in childlike awe, and the soft sounds that would leave his mouth every now and then were indication enough that he was truly captivated.

 

To his other side was Andy; His face didn't betray much, his eyes weren't wide, his mouth wasn't open- but something about him just screamed serenity, and just being next to him gave Joe a kind of peace he hadn't felt in a while.

 

It was tricky. The whole situation was just...tricky. Joe...felt, something for Andy- he knew he did, he wasn't stupid and he knew his own feelings pretty well but- But sometimes, things shouldn't be complicated, and Joe- well, there was no reason to complicate things between them. Even if it was good for a _while_ , they were teenagers, and teenage romances didn't last forever.

People grew up, changed, went to different schools, travelled to different places, moved on. It was part of the reason Joe had always avoided relationships; He wasn't that ugly, he guessed, and some girls- even some guys, had...propositioned him, for deeper stuff, but-

 

Joe just didn't want to deal with that heartbreak.

 

Why not just wait until he was older, and settled, and ready? Why not avoid all the sadness and shit- why not just wait until the time was right?

 

 

**Because then, the person won't be right.**

 

 

Joe didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Telepathy with the other three guys had been both a blessing and a curse.

 

He glanced over at Pete, the curly-haired boy's smile tired and eyes even more so. The dark-haired boy only smiled back. **PW: D'you what the buddhists say?**

 

Joe sighed, shaking his head but quickly remembering that this particular conversation was secret. **JT: Don't kill bugs?**

 

Pete laughed quietly, rolling his shoulder blades and leaning back against the wood, while being careful not to disturb Patrick's head. **PW: That, if you feel nervous around someone- like, heart beating fast, shaky knees- all of that?**

Joe quirked an eyebrow, but Pete only smiled up at the yellow sparks that burst across the sky with a pop. **PW: They aren't the one.**

 

Joe fell silent, as did Pete. The curly-haired boy not quite finding the words, until Patrick's head dropped a little further onto Pete's shoulder, pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck with a lazy smile.

 

**JT: You don't feel nervous around Patrick?**

 

Pete could help a grin, **PW: Only when he's mad at me.** He shook his head as he tried a subtle glance at Joe. **No. Never have. Not even back in Kindergarten. It was just-** The smile was softer, dreamier even. **Like everything in my head shut up for a moment. When I was near him- everything just...shut up and- I dunno, _stood still_.**

 

Joe blinked. Holy shit, that sounded incredible. That instinctual awe of somebody- Joe could hardly-

He felt Andy jump at a sudden bang of purple next to him, and as he watched the boy laugh at himself quietly, leaning back into wood as blue eyes shone with lilac from the sky. And as Joe watched him, everything else melted away for a moment; His heartbeat fell invisible, his breathing fell silent- Joe felt _calm_.

 

Joe could imagine it.

 

**PW: Andy makes you calm, doesn't he?** Joe only nodded, head ducking for only a moment, before a flash of yellow forced his eyes upwards. **I can tell. Your head was quieter. Easier to break into.**

 

**JT: Glad to know it benefits _you_.**

 

Pete only grinned broadly, subtly jutting an elbow into Joe's ribs. **PW: It does. But I want you to be happy, dweeb.**

 

Pete wanted him to be happy. Pete was going out of his way- breaking into Joe's fucking mind, to _convince_ him to be _happy_.

 

Joe didn't know what he'd done to deserve friends like these.

 

He nodded again, trying a tiny, watery, and grateful smile at Pete with a quiet sniff, all before he stared up at pink sparks.

 

 

**I'll try, loser.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Are you bitches ready?!"

 

"You're _way_ too hyped up for this, Pete."

 

"Uhh-" Pete furrowed his brow at the others, pointing a match at them accusingly. "Fireworks are a perfectly decent thing to be hyped for."

Despite themselves, the other three laughed, and Pete squinted to see them in the darkness.

 

They'd left Seattle, and after some pretty severe driving, they'd found a place rural enough to not get arrested for lighting fireworks. They'd driven out, parked the car, turned on the headlights, and had given the bag and matches to Pete.

 

A terrible idea, in hindsight.

 

"Alright- three- two-" Pete practically screamed the 'one' as he lit the first firework, aptly named 'Grave', lurching back as the thing rocketed into the sky almost immediately- exploding against the stars with huge, dark blue sparks.

 

"Oh fuck, that's cool. I fucking love fireworks- petition to have 'em all year."

 

"I mean-"

 

"Sign my petition, Hurley."

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the night drew on, and only grew darker, they eventually got through the bags upon bags of the big fireworks that had cost a bomb. Pete had particularly enjoyed 'Mania'; A cacophony of purples and blues- neon, yet dark. A flurry, uncontrolled, experimental and wild.

Patrick, however had liked 'R&R'. Simply named, yet a burst of autumn; Reds, oranges, and golds- all giving their little piece of the sky the best glow he'd ever seen.

Joe had been a particular fan of 'Infinity on High'. Blues, reds, golds- things that shouldn't have really fit together, but had in a way. The organized mess had made Joe's eyes lock, unable to tear away, no matter the incentive.

And if Joe could read expressions as well as he thought he could, Andy's favourite had definitely been 'American Psycho'. Greens, whites, blues- all subdued, faded, yet powered by the sounds; The sounds had been steady, strong, memorable. Like the beats of a thousand drums that were played through the sky, and even Joe had to admit, it'd been amazing to hear.

 

And now the bags were empty. Or so they'd thought.

 

Turns out, while they'd been agonizing over Roman Candles, Pete had snuck off to the sparkler section.

 

It also turns out, leaving Pete alone for more than three seconds was a terrible, terrible idea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay, whoever draws the biggest dick gets to drive the car."

 

"Well, I'm gonna be drawing chodes 'cause I can't drive. Oh- and, none of us can drive, actually. This is _so dumb_ Pete-"

 

"Readysetgo!"

 

There was straining, heaving, grunting- hell, even jumping, as the boys- excluding Patrick, who stood in the corner drawing swirls instead- tried their bests.

As the sparklers reached the end of the wire, Joe and Andy dropped them- caring more about their fingers than driving the car.

 

Pete however.

 

Pete leapt up onto the car's hood, before jumping down again, and drawing the hugest neon dick in thin air any of them had ever seen, burning his fingers in the process.

 

Patrick tutted and rolled his eyes as he poured water over the red digits, "Are you proud of yourself?" Despite the occasional winces, Pete grinned brightly. "Yup!"

 

"Alright, everyone back in the fucking car."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Where to next then?"

  
  
Andy stretched out the map, squinting down at it until he found Washington. "We're here, so…" With an even harder squint, he followed the red line from Seattle to Portland. "Oregon next...then it's south to California."

Pete nodded eagerly, grin a mile wide as his eyes clouded over with something that made Patrick groan in irritation _already_.

 

"What, Pete?"

 

"...I have an idea."

 

"...It's a bad idea, isn't it?"

 

"Uh, _excuse_ you- actually, yeah it probably is, BUT-" Pete's face split into a grin, as he held up a finger. "It's a _fun_ idea. And what counts is having fun, right?"

 

"Uh...what counts is not _dying_. Or, getting arrested."

 

"Okay- we _probably_ won't get arrested-"

 

"Probably?"

 

"No, probably not." Pete sighed happily, before quickly interjecting any indignant refusals. "Truth or dare."

 

"Well, that's not very extreme-"

"That sounds okay- could be fun-"

"Pete, that's normal- it's not even-"

 

 

" _Extreme_ edition."

 

 

"Okay, fuck that-"

"No thank you-"

"Great job, you ruined it-"

 

"Well okay, look- you guys get to pick the truth or dares."

 

Silence. Furrowed brows. Interested eyes. Pete grinned.

 

They were considering it.

 

"And we have...teams?" The words carried a pointed, knowing stare towards Patrick- which was quickly returned with a tiny, hidden smile and a glint of mischief. "...Fine, I'm in." Patrick's agreement set the other two boys off like rockets.

 

"...Alright. Fine."

"Cool, whatever. As long as we don't die."

 

Patrick shifted over to Pete, eyebrows raising lazily and lips quirking into a smile that made Joe...nervous. Huh.

 

"What are the teams, Pete?"

 

"I'm glad you asked, Patrick."

 

Both strings of words carried a slyness and smugness to them, and the tones made Joe and Andy glance at each other with concern in their eyes.

 

"Me and Patrick, versus you guys."

 

"So predictable, Jesus-"

" _Pete what are_ -"

 

"G'night!" And with that, Pete shifted onto his side, bundling up in a thin, brown comforter he'd snatched back from the boot. Patrick did the same, curling up in the passenger seat and cocooning himself in a tartan blanket with a small, breathy, and mischievous laugh.

 

Shit.

 

Joe glanced at Andy. Andy glanced at Joe.

 

 

Pete and Patrick were planning something. And whatever it was, it definitely wasn't good.

 

 

 

 


	13. Did It Hurt? (When You Fell For Me?)

 

The sounds of breathing, clicking, and birdsong brought the sun, and as Andy finally blinked his sandy eyes open, he gave himself a few moments to look around.

The car was bathed in pale pink and orange light, the beams strung in through the windows, catching specks of dust and tiny pieces of lint that clung to soft hoodies and sweaters.

Andy himself was leaned against the backseat window, the crown of his head meeting cold glass as his own parka, that he'd curled up in the night before, kept him warm on the cold summer morning.

Joe was his mirror image, only, a very patriotic blanket strewn with the flag lay over him as he craned his neck against the glass, cheek squashing against the plastic of the car. It looked uncomfortable, and Andy assumed Joe would be complaining about neck pain for the rest of the damn week.

With a sleepy blink, Andy cocked his head over at the front seats.

Face turned away from the light, Patrick was curled up in the passenger seat, odd socked feet resting up on the dark dashboard. Despite the oddly bent position, his face- shrouded in shadows, as Patrick had an instinctual hatred for light, looked lax and peaceful, despite the shivers that would often shake his shoulders or make his teeth click.

 

The driver's seat was empty however. Where Andy had been expecting a strewn out Pete, limbs awkwardly thrown over clutches and steering wheels- there was nothing.

 

With a sniff, and at realizing just how cramped his limbs were, Andy- with all the care he could muster, slowly and quietly left the car, grimacing as Joe batted an arm out at the click the door made.

In a moment of dazedness, Andy had neglected to pull his sneakers back on, but much to his sigh of relief, the grass was bone dry. At least the fiery summer sun had some advantages, he supposed.

With a glance back through the car window, Andy stepped forwards towards the hood, head ducking around the metal with a blink.

 

Pete was sat on the grass, hood over his head, knees raised, elbows on the bones, and camera in his hands, as his fingers toyed with the buttons.

The dark-haired boy gave a quiet yawn, bringing the viewfinder to his eye and aiming the lens towards the trees that sat a few meters away; What were once probably dark, black pockets of woods, were now strewn with the same pastel light that had invaded the car, and Andy was half transfixed by it as he took a seat next to Pete, shoulder blades pressing against the car's left fender.

 

"Hey Andy. Sleep well?"

 

Another yawn, another click, and Pete finally brought the camera away from his eye, blinking down at the screen with a tiny smile. The other boy nodded, casting a curious gaze over at the pictures of the trees in Pete's hands. "Yeah, thanks." Blue eyes flicked to a tired face. "You okay?"

 

Pete only laughed quietly, winking an eye into the viewfinder and craning his neck, bringing the lens up towards the fluffy, pink sky. "You mean, why am I sitting in grass at like, seven am?"

Andy huffed in amusement, shoulders giving a tiny shrug as he watched Pete's finger click pictures at the black flocks of birds that cut across the cotton candy above them. "That's a good question too."

The camera dropped back into his hands, and Pete squinted down at the newest pictures. Andy gave a small, impressed gasp, inching over to see the screen. With a smile, Pete tilted the screen towards him, showing him the cleanly taken and cut image.

The black silhouettes of the birds look so clean they almost looked edited in, and they were only brighter and more unnatural against the pink fluff and golden streaks. Andy gave tiny, amazed nods, perfectly paired with wide eyes. "That's- really good."

"Thanks dude." Pete sniffed, fingers taking to fidgeting with buttons again as the camera moved back into his lap. Andy leaned back against the metal again, cocking his head at Pete. "You take photography, right? Or- wait, you were taking photography, before the break-"

 

"Yeah, I've been taking it for a while." Pete nodded, smiling to himself as he squinted up at the trees, leaving the viewfinder out of the equation this time.

Andy only nodded too, he wasn't sure what to say. ' _That's weird_ ', or ' _You don't seem like the type_ ' seemed a little too...inconsiderate- stereotypical, even, and Andy sure as hell didn't want to start a problem between them.

 

"I know, I don't seem like the type."

 

Andy froze. Shit, had Pete read his mind? Oh fuck-

The dark-haired boy cast him a kind, yet sleepy look, that was quickly invaded by another yawn. "I didn't have to read your mind dude, I know it's weird."

A small spark of confidence fuelling him, Andy tilted his head a little, eyes wide as he tried reassuring Pete that he wasn't judging him in the slightest. "Why'd you take it? Like, in the first place?"

Another small laugh, and another glance up at the sky; It was starting to clear now. Rosy pink was drifting and golden was separating away to reveal baby, powdery blue under their covers. "Mom wanted me to do something," He paused, letting his camera rest on his thigh as he made dramatic quotation marks with his long, index and middle fingers. "' _Creative_ '," Pete huffed in amusement, taking the camera back into his hands. "Said it was important. Said sport wasn't the only thing in life." He quirked an eyebrow at Andy, "Dad wasn't too happy."

 

Andy only nodded softly, "Was she right? Do you enjoy it?" A calm, broad smile settled across Pete's face, and after a few moments of silence, he nodded. "I do. I really do."

 

Their voices faded into the pleasant silence, only tinged by bird calls and the slight rustle of leaves- as well as the distant rumbles of cars and trucks. It felt so rural, so peaceful, but only a few miles away sat a city. They'd only managed to escape the calls of concrete a few times, but this wasn't one of those.

 

"Oh," Pete glanced over his shoulder, eyes a little brighter. "I didn't answer your question." Andy was about to try a quick protest, to assure him that it was okay, but Pete quickly cut in with his breathless explanation. "I don't sleep too well, especially not in cars and stuff, so uh- since we've been out here, I'll just come chill outside at sunrise. Sometimes I try and go back to sleep, but..." He shrugged lightly, fiddling with a few buttons and tilting a few screens towards Andy. "Take some pictures, just think a while. Y'know?"

Andy nodded, most of his attention focused on the pictures on the screen. "Here dude." Pete shook the camera over at him gently, and Andy took the offer with a nod, a smile, and a happy mumble of thanks.

In St. Louis, it looked as though the sky had been burning. On fire with tiger red and canary yellow, engulfed in flickers and flames as the St. Louis arch and the bulky skyscrapers cowered under the wrath of the clouds.

Missouri had been blue. The sky over Kansas city had been flushed royal, and had carried a butter yellow footnote. A wide road had been painted yam orange, shadowed by inky streaks under the streetlights as the giant bond bridge put the concrete to shame.

South Dakota. Mount Rushmore flooded pastel peach light, the faces of old presidents carved into the stone were simultaneously bright and highlighted, and shadowy and sharp. The skies were pebble grey, while the mountain was pink. It looked surreal, as though it should've been reversed.

North Dakota was blonde. The sky, the grass, the trees- all hand painted in pale lemon light, while a firm, jutting water tower stood against it all like a protest.

But Montana...Montana had been purple. From pastel to murky, purple clouds, purple water, purple rock. Peeking out from the stones themselves however, were straight beams of speckled honey light, breaking the peace the other colour had brought, and reminding the world that things were still, generally, normal.

And then, there was Washington, or, where they were sat right now. Pink skies, black birds, golden trees, and scorch marks in the grass where they'd lit the fireworks the night before. Andy smiled to himself, that had been really stupid, admittedly...And to his surprise, as he kept hitting the buttons, he realized just how sneaky Pete had been. _Incredibly_ sneaky- holy shit, how had he even-

 

It was kinda impressive.

 

Sparklers trailing against dark black spaces, lighting up hands and faces as they drew everything from hearts, to smiley faces, to dicks.

The back of Joe's head under the space needle, point and sharp against the clouds in the backdrop as mousey brown curls took prime attention.

That night they'd eaten at Denny's, half asleep and practically half dead; Joe's top half sprawled over the table, Andy's cheek against the window, Patrick's dead eyes staring at the untimely stack of maple pancakes in front of him.

Four pairs of battered sneakers trailing over the bumpy concrete of, what Andy was pretty sure, was St. Louis.

Patrick's red hair peeking out from under the wool hood of Pete's leather jacket; Oh yeah...he'd borrowed it in North Dakota, on account of 'being cold'.

Half of Andy's back, getting hit by the sun in the mid-afternoon; Ear, skin, hair, and damn, Pete had even caught a few inches of ink under his sleeve- all tinged with lemony light as he remained blissfully unaware of the camera.

And, whoa- he'd even caught that ironic peace sign Patrick had given to the vending machine at the gas station; Lit up by the crisp, fresh blue light as his eyes crinkled and he gave a huge, sarcastic grin, fingers poised in a 'V' at the cans of coke that eluded him. Now that was good blackmail material.

 

As Andy glanced over the pictures, lips quirking into a smile at them, he was actually...really glad Pete had caught these. These tiny snippets of their time so far. Seemingly unimportant and mundane, but...but valid to _them_.

 

He glanced up at Pete with a mile long smile, that was a little more watery than he'd of liked. Andy didn't know what to say but Pete only smiled back, and Andy knew he didn't have to say anything else.

Instead, they both pressed shoulder blades back against the car's headlights, craning their necks upwards, and giving the blackbirds lazy smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Andyyyy...And-meister-"

 

"What."

 

Pete and Joe shared a glance, mischievous smiles turning slightly nervous as their eyes grew shifty. "Uhh…" Rustling around in the pocket of his jean's, Joe fished a card from his pocket, and handed it over with wide eyes and a quick request. "Can you turn this into an ID card?"

There was an indignant grunt, and soon enough, Patrick was narrowing his eyes at them over the short, metal aisle of the gas station.

The original plan had been stop for a few minutes, walk around, get un-cramped, but a shitload of coffee and energy drinks, and back in the car until they left Oregon and reached Sacramento.

But after a few minutes of walking around and whispering to each other with huge grins, Pete and Joe had finally tried to put the plan they'd been hatching into motion.

 

Patrick squinted, like a disapproving parent who'd caught his children destroying the house. "What are you-"

Pete sighed heavily, "We have an idea but we need ID cards, c'mon dude." Andy only raised his eyebrows, "ID cards? Are you serious? You know that's illegal, right-"

"Andy, dude," Pete cocked his head with a pleading look in his eyes, "It's not that bad, just trust us." And a few moments of stunned silence later, Pete held out another Wilmette library card. "Pete. Joe." Andy gave a long suffering sigh, barely stifling a roll of his eyes before both boys chimed in again with grating whines.

 

"Andy, c'mooon-"

"Please dude-"

"It's not that bad-"

"Seriously, it's a good idea, we just-"

 

" _Alright_." If there was something Andy couldn't bear, it was whining. And Joe and Pete were _damn_ _good_ at whining.

So, with a weak glare at the two assholes who had put him in this tricky situation, Andy wrapped a hand around one card- reading Joe Trohman, first, and focused on the image of an Illinois ID card in his mind; Red border, blue accents, white background, license number- fake of course, name, date of birth- making sure to place it over eighteen- his mind's eye whitened out, blanking away as he opened his real eyes.

Andy opened his palm, huffing at himself at the perfect ID card that sat in his hand. He handed it over to a beaming Joe, who was only parroting 'thank you's and 'you're awesome's, before repeating the process with Pete's.

 

As soon as both boys- or rather, _men_ , held their proof of ages, they made a furious beeline for the beer- _oh for god's sake_.

 

"Really?" Andy stalked after them, quickly followed by Patrick- who had already started reeling off annoyed chimes of ' _Are you guys serious?_ ' and ' _Really? Beer? That was the whole point?_ '.

Joe and Pete paid them no mind, only stacking their arms with as much booze as they could carry, before marching over to the counter with sniggers and grins.

 

 

 

 

The cashier didn't looked convinced at all. She glanced at their faces; Patchy stubble, wide eyes, baby cheeks- obviously way too young to be handling bottles of shit that would leave them floored in three seconds. Her stormy eyes moved to their clothes; Hoodies, graphic t-shirts, baggy sweaters, jeans that were distressed after actual wear and tear, beaten sneakers.

 

She cast an unimpressed stare up to their eyes, glancing between them with a dead stare.

 

Pete and Joe's grins stuck in place, handing over both ID cards and watching the woman's face drop and blank in pure shock. She stared for a moment, before numbly taking the cards and squinting at them, scrutinizing the words, lines, colours- but everything added up.

She passed them back, before moving to scan the bottles, and missing the barcodes several times on account of leaning over to squint at their faces.

 

 

 

 

After their suspicious goodbyes, Pete and Joe left the store, arms filled with bottles and hearts full of success as they marched across damp pavement over to the car. The two, ironically more adult, members of the group trailed behind, eyebrows quirked and heads full of suspicion as Joe and Pete packed the boxes into the sides of the boot, being careful to leave space in the center for something or other.

 

"Uhh...are you guys plotting to murder somebody, or…?"

 

"-And, just for the record, if you say yes, I'm not helping." Patrick narrowed his eyes, but Pete and Joe only laughed, shaking their heads as the ducked into the car- coaxing Andy and Patrick in, but not without groans and rolled eyes.

As Andy thumped into the back seat, he gave a deadly serious stare over at Joe; The curly-haired boy was sat by his side, trying to stifle a grin as his leg bounced, and as his neck craned, catching Pete's eye every now and then as they both beamed at something unknown.

 

"...So...any reason you guys are grinning like psychopaths?"

 

"No reason." The words were coupled with a high, loud, and sudden laugh that made Patrick and Andy glance for each other, searching for refuge in the only sane human beings left in the car.

 

"I think we're gonna die."

 

Andy nodded sagely, sighing and accepting his fate.

 

"Nice knowing you dude."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"See?"

Pete stretched with a groan and sighed happily, settling back into the nest of comforters, pillows, jackets- anything soft they could find and string together into a makeshift mattress. "You guys are drama queens."

They'd packed and lined the boot, opening the door and lying packed like sardines as the four gazes settled on the white, paper screen in front of them. Cars, trucks, and tents had been set up in odd, misshapen rows. Boots had been opened wide, the backs of pickup trucks had been lined with blow up mattress, and tents had been stuffed with blankets, as everyone in the radius of the screen kept their eyes on the screen.

The drive-in had been Pete and Joe's idea, after seeing a few flyers about the place in Newberg, they'd driven out and had kept the entire thing secret, apparently. The beer had come hand in hand with the film, and as the film started rolling- the opening credits reading 'Super 8', they cracked open a few bottles and sat in silence, watching the film as a peace settled over the entire sandy place.

 

 

 

 

The film had been pretty good so far; It was about a few kids in Ohio trying to make some zombie movie, until a train had crashed or something- admittedly, Pete hadn't been paying that much attention. But that was only because of the fucking angel sat next to him- who was enjoying the film to its full extent; Patrick's eyes would widen, blink quickly, and squint, depending on what workings took place on the screen. His mouth would gasp quietly, widen, or press straight, in accordance to whatever happened to the kids, and goddamnit, Pete was entranced.

"Alright," The voice shook Pete's gaze towards his other side, and he quickly found Joe raising an eyebrow at both him and Patrick. "Because I'm nice-"

 

" _Arguable_ -"

 

"Fuck you, Pete." Joe laughed, head tipping back against the car seats they'd leaned down, before he raised his brow at the couple once again. "You get five minutes to be gross." Quickly clapping a hand over his eyes with a grin, Joe strained his ears towards the screen in an effort to entertain himself, all as Pete watched Andy follow suit, fingers lacing over his eyes as he laughed quietly.

 

Pete's eyes were wide, yet grateful as he turned back to Patrick, giving him a quick smile and huffing at the grin and eye roll Patrick supplied, before he moved a hand to cup a pale jaw. Thumb running over the sharp bone, Pete watched in fascination as the familiar pink blush spread over Patrick's nose. Patrick leaned into the hand on his cheek, eyes glinting and lips quirking as Pete surged forwards quietly, slotting their mouths together with a smile.

A pale hand linked through his hair, and Pete felt a shudder over his spine, tilting his head and pushing forwards a little more, and slipping his tongue past Patrick's lips, licking into his mouth with a quick exhale. Pete could tell Patrick was stifling his customary soft sounds- because Pete was doing the _exact same thing_ ; He forced any groans and moans to the back of his throat, fighting them down into his chest as he sighed silently into Patrick, skin prickling at the hands that pulled at his hair gently.

It'd been a while since they'd...but-

 

"Alright, gross time is over, I'm removing my hand so stop."

 

Pete and Patrick huffed in amusement, falling back into their places as eyes were uncovered. The quiet laughter died down, and as gazes fell back on the screen, Patrick subtly leaned his head on Pete's shoulder, casting him a proud smile. Pete threw one back, hazarding a careful look at Joe and Andy, before linking his arm around Patrick's shoulders and rubbing his cheek into strawberry blonde hair.

 

**AH: We can see you guys, y'know.**

 

**JT: Yeah, you aren't sneaky, sorry.**

 

Patrick only laughed and threw an arm over Pete's waist, not perturbed by the joking protests. **PS: Let me be gross in peace, please.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Okay so," Joe raised his gaze from the guitar on his knee, glancing around at the others as Pete's voice chimed up. The dark-haired boy idly flicked a string on the pastel blue Gibson in his hands, grinning up at the others like a Cheshire cat. "First dare, boys and girls."

Three loud groans erupted at the words, as the memories of the game they'd promised to play last night flooded back.

"Uh," Despite the sigh on his tongue, Patrick furrowed his brow, shifting his legs and being careful not to disturb the acoustic on his lap. "Or truth, dude. It's called 'Truth _OR_ dare', remember."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Pete gave a dramatic roll of his eyes, shifting an elbow on the side of his bass, "Truths are no fun."

Patrick's grumpy mumbling about ' _Truths are safe, you asshole_ ' filled the car, and the others only laughed, shaded by the yellowy car light.

 

After the film, they'd left the drive-in and had rooted around for a while, looking for a viable place to park. Through the joking, chatting and beer, they'd actually landed a few towns over, and had finally settled for a little town, stopping in a diner parking lot and calling it a night.

Taking full advantage of the nest in the boot, the four had piled in, along with the instruments Pete had brought from Illinois, and they'd quickly settled into quiet, familiar melodies.

 

As the comfortable silence invaded once more, Pete found himself plucking out a droning melody that Joe was pretty sure was Gorillaz's handiwork. He raised an eyebrow, "Feel Good inc.?" Pete only grinned, before biting his tongue and easily plucking out one even more familiar than the last- causing all the others to ring in with realizing nods.

 

"Seven Nation _Army_ -"

"Dude, I can't believe you didn't recognize that sooner, like-"

 

Joe only grinned, poising his own fingers and joining the simple bass with simple guitar, and soon enough, the sounds filled the car, ringing out through the tiny amps Pete had piled into the car back in Wilmette.

 

 

 

 

As the night rolled on, Pete supplied the basslines from everything from Pumped Up Kicks to Mr Brightside- all while Joe chimed in with the guitar, and Andy idly tapped out steady beats on any flat surfaces they could find, from his thighs to pillows to the carseats- Patrick, however, would supply occasional lyrics, whenever he actually remembered them, coaxing goddamn campfire sing-a-longs at 3am.

And as the streets got darker, and as the streetlights peeked at them through the windows, Pete suddenly sat up as stiff as a board, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling in lightly joking fury.

 

"You motherfuckers- distracting me from the dares with-" Pete frowned and flicked the amps off. "Fuck, you aren't getting away with- Okay. Hurley." He turned, eyes narrowed and stared at Andy. "Truth or dare?"

 

The other boy only squinted for a split second, before the word 'Dare' came tumbling from his mouth with hardly any hesitation. Pete grinned, nodding eagerly and fishing his phone out of his pocket, quickly hunching over and typing with deft fingers.

"Wait so, we have teams, right?" Joe raised an eyebrow, and Patrick shrugged idly. Clearly, nobody but Pete knew how the system would work, until-

 

"Okay." Pete sat up again, small giggles escaping him as he read over something that was already making Andy nervous. "For each of us- like, there's a dare-"

 

"Or _truth_."

 

"Alright alright," Pete rolled his eyes, but kept speaking before Patrick's glare could escalate. " _Or truth_ , and if you complete it- you get a point, but if you don't-"

 

"You _don't get a point_ , yeah okay, we get it dude." With a slight laugh, Joe nodded slowly, giving the phone and the curiosity on the screen a pointed stare. Pete's smile spread slowly, growing more and more mischievous with every millimetre. Andy gulped audibly.

 

"Get a stick and poke tattoo."

 

Four horrified groans laced with laughs were followed by pained hisses through grins, and Pete quickly bounced his eyebrows up at Andy. "Well dude?"

Andy closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his left temple with a sigh as Joe spoke up first. "Uhh...maybe it's not a good-"

"Yeah, I agree with Joe-"

"Aw, but come on-"

"It's a _tattoo_ dude, like-

"Yeah, that shit's permanent, fuck that-"

 

"I'll do it."

 

Andy sighed deeply and nodded, eyes glazing over in a firm kind of determination, making Pete grin excitedly, a complete contrast to the already pained grimaces from Joe and Patrick.

Andy only gave them a reassuring look, and that was all Joe needed before he shrugged with a nod.

 

"Who has a needle?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a quick shopping run for needles and pens- a purchase which had left the cashier staring after them suspiciously, Andy's hand been restrained and trapped with a sweater sleeve. It was tied down to the map book, and resting on Joe's knee bone as he unscrewed the pen with checking glances up towards Andy.

"Sure dude?"

" _Yeah_ , just do it."

Joe wasn't sure if this was a great idea, but he was half drunk and half asleep, so, with Pete's excited chatters and Andy's reassurances in his ear, Joe felt pretty convinced.

 

"What do you want?"

 

Andy blinked slowly, the alcohol making his brain a little fuzzier than usual. "Like...from life?" Joe only laughed- as did Pete, but Patrick quickly groaned, shifting back and curling up in the corner with the comforters he could tug onto himself. "Oh-" Andy nodded quickly, mouth pulled straight as he finally understood the question, after a few moments of processing. "I don't know. You can choose Pete."

 

"That is the worst idea in the history of mankind, Andy." Patrick's voice chimed in, sleepy, faded and true, but Pete only pouted dramatically, quickly skimming through his phone until he laughed loudly, eyes crinkling as he showed the screen to Joe- hiding it from Andy's curious eyes.

"Oh dude, that's- that's just-" Joe spluttered into laughter, nodding as he dipped the nib of the needle into black ink, before holding Andy's hand still with a grin. "Now that's too good not to do- _goddamnit Pete_."

With the sound of Pete's raucous laughter, Joe's breathy giggling, and with the feeling of hornet stings just below his nails, past the first bump of bone, Andy clenched his eyes shut and sighed. _Heavily_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Fuck city. Fuck ci- _really?_ "

 

"Told you it was a bad idea." Andy nodded to Patrick's sleepy mumble in vehement agreement, staring down at the faint, clean lines, and the blood blotting on his skin. Joe and Pete only laughed wildly, stifling it with all of their might and hiding the sounds behind their hands. Sparing a half-heated glare, Andy sighed heavily, shaking his head and dropping to the soft nest with a sigh. "You motherfuckers are lucky I can control ink-"

 

"Aw, but that kills the-"

"Andy, you can't just-"

 

"Just." Patrick sat up straight in a sleep stupor, somehow glaring through closed eyes. "We haf'ta drive to _California_ tomorrow- s'just, go to sleep, c'mon." The redhead dropped back into the clump of pillows he'd been resting on, and finally sighing happily as Pete and Joe flicked the car light off, locked the doors, and pushed away beer bottles, instruments, and amps, before finally falling between the boys that were already sleeping.

 

Pete quickly threw an arm around Patrick, pulling him close and linking their legs, relishing in finally sleeping next to Patrick for the first time in a long time. Under the darkness, the ginger shifted onto his other side, curling a fist into Pete's hoodie and yawning into his collarbones with a tiny mumble that was lost between the faint bustling of the town's nightlife.

Pete pressed a silent kiss to strawberry blonde hair, before yawning quietly and squeezing Patrick impossibly tighter.

 

 

Joe ignored the disgustingly sweet affection going on behind his literal back, and instead, cast a worried glance at Andy; The boy's face was scrunched up, and his fingers would twitch uncomfortably every now and then.

Joe could see the beads spill into lines in the dark, and his heart clenched at the sight. Even though he was a little drunk, Joe wasn't a sociopath; It hadn't been easy to press the needle in again and again, ignoring the groans and winces from Andy hadn't been fun.

 

But, thanks to the said drunkenness, Joe felt no hesitation in reaching a hand out, curling it around Andy's bloody fingers and sighing quietly, lips quirking into a smile at two things; One: At healing his friend. Joe was a pretty paternal guy, and fuck, he hated watching people suffer. The power that had been bestowed upon him had really been a blessing. And two...well, _Andy_. That was pretty obvious to him at this point. And fuck- Joe could practically _hear_ Pete's happy smirk.

 

Asshole.

 

A considerate asshole who wanted him to get his shit together and confess his feelings to the guy he liked.

 

But still an asshole.

 

A few minutes later- during which Andy didn't stir from his sleep, and the stickiness of the blood had retreated, fading away to leave grey, ink lines that would turn black in the morning.

Joe's eyes moved over to the other hand, curled into a fist next to Andy's head, and with a slight bob of his Adam's apple, and with a sudden spark of nerves attacking his stomach, Joe laced his free digits over the other bloody fingers.

Another clump of minutes, and as the blood faded, Joe finally moved to draw his hands away- only to have them stopped by a pair of bloodless hands.

Joe blinked, eyes suddenly wide and mind suddenly clear. His jaw shook a little, threatening to fall open as Andy's fingers tangled with his own...And...as blue eyes opened, Joe practically felt his heart stop.

 

**Thank you.**

 

Joe shook his head, eyes blinking away tears that had formed for some reason that both infuriated and astounded him.  **It's okay dude.**

They both smiled, both curls harbouring some amounts of nerves and awkwardness as dark and light blue eyes tore away from one another, instead opting to lock on blank spaces. Well, that was until sleep finally tugged at the strings of Joe's mind, coaxing him into a deep sleep, fuelled by the silence, the day's exertion, and by the hands linked with his own.

 

As everything started fading black behind his eyelids, the last thing Joe felt was a thumb smoothing across his knuckles, and Joe could only smile.

 

 

 

 

Patrick glanced up at Pete, grin wide and eyes squinted, and Pete only beamed down, stifling a laugh as Patrick's voice rang through his skull.  **PS: Dude, this is totally working so far.**

The dark-haired boy nodded sagely, pulling a thinker's expression as he dropped his chin onto ginger hair.  **PW: Exposure. That's all they needed.**

Patrick huffed amusedly, rubbing a cheek against golden collarbones as his fingers played with a loose strand on the hip of Pete's jeans.  **PS: Did you use exposure on me?**

Patrick could _feel_ Pete's grin, and he felt Pete's chest rumble in quiet laughter as a kiss landed in his hair.  **PW: I exposed myself to you for twelve years, Trick.**

With a wrinkle of his nose and burst of laughter he muffled in Pete's hoodie, Patrick's frame shook as his voice held disgust in Pete's head. **PS: Oh god-** _ **gross**_ **dude.**

Pete shifted backwards, wiggling against the comforter beneath them and meeting Patrick's powdery eyes in the darkness, cupping his cheek, before giving him a smile that melted his fucking heart, goddamnit Pete-

 

**Say whatever you want, but it totally worked. You _fell_ _for it_.**

 

Patrick smiled back, knowing full well 'it' really meant 'me'. He blinked up at Pete, running a pale thumb over a tanned cheekbone with a soft look in his eyes.

 

 

**Head over heels.**

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Thanks A Lot Pete

 

Patrick rolled onto his side for the hundredth and twentieth time, a small, breathy string of grumbles escaping him as the others laughed, but simultaneously rolled their eyes.

The redhead only huffed in irritation, the side of his head thumping against the carseat as he glared at thin air, one sweater paw protectively placed over the raw side of his chest.

 

Dares were not fun. Dares were not to be trusted. Patrick had learnt that the hard way.

 

And the metal ring pierced through his motherfucking left nipple was a pretty good reminder of the horrible, _horrible_ lesson he'd learnt the night before in Sacramento.

 

"Dude, you are _not_ allowed to complain." Pete groaned from the driver's seat, rubbing a cheek against the carseat and pawing at his crotch with a grimace and a hiss.

 

Okay, admittedly, Pete's reminder of said lesson was worse. A lot worse.

 

But despite that being a valid fact, Patrick liked complaining, and he was good at complaining- so the others would just have to deal with it.

 

"It _hurts_ \- fuck, this is so fucking stupid-"

 

"Patrick-" Pete turned to face his boyfriend with a narrowed stare, "I got my fucking _dick_ pierced, you have nothing to complain about."

The redhead only scoffed, throwing his hands up in a tired gesture before giving Pete an indignant look. "Well I'm the one who's gonna have to _deal with it!_ Like-"

 

"Oh god. Stop talking about Pete's dick."

 

Joe groaned from the backseat, hands over his temples and eyes wide at the car's ceiling, but the couple in the front only huffed, before returning to their bickering about 'piercings' and 'stupid fucking dares'.

In Joe's personal opinion, he was pretty sure he was suffering the most right now. Well, that was if the huge, Cyclops Cerberus inked onto the entire expanse of his chest at the moment was any indication.

His chest was itchy as hell as his skin healed over the pinpricks that had left ink behind, and goddamnit, he wished his dare had been of the 'stick and poke' nature, rather than of the 'professional' nature. With a machine. And a lot of ink. And a long time of just sitting in a chair and trying not to scream- Fuck, this shit hurt, but they'd gotten the point- and that was all that mattered. Joe wasn't actually sure what the whole point was, now that he thought about it-

 

Shit.

 

" _Pete?_ " The glare that accompanied the words wasn't missed by Pete, who only gave a laugh in response, nodding with a grin that made Joe sigh. The dark-haired boy quickly jolted the car to life, letting it hum as settled his hands on the driving wheel, before he tugged the map towards him with one last glance at the backseat.

 

 

"That's a secret Joe boy."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe had always liked hospitals, in a way.

 

It was smell, perhaps; That clean, antiseptic scent that clung to the walls and stuck to your clothes.

Or maybe it was the tired, sleepy relief on the faces of patients leaving, trailing through the halls, flocked by family and friends. Covered in bandages, sat in wheelchairs, or holding newborn bundles in their arms, all while their faces told a tale of what they'd been through, every wrinkle, bag or splotch letting others know they'd survived their trials.

 

Joe paced through the clean halls, quickly orienteering himself on the plastic maps stuck to the walls, and making an unsteady beeline for the Intensive Care Unit.

 

Since they'd gotten their powers, Joe thought they'd been a little reckless, truthfully. They'd acted the exact way stereotypical young people would, they were practically fucking caricatures at this point.

First off, they'd filmed their abilities to no end, and it was all stashed on one of Pete's many memory cards. One wrong person, one wrong move, and- And god, who knows what would happen to them.

And then, they'd neglected to use the abilites for good. They'd thrown baseballs at each other, had scared the shit out of each other, and had pranked everyone from their families to strangers. Sure, it was fun, but, some part of Joe felt guilty.

When he'd brought it up to Patrick one rainy morning in Starbucks- whilst Pete and Andy had been changing a few bills in the corner, the redhead had only sighed. Patrick had shook his head, crossed his arms, and he'd told Joe something that still rang in his head at this very moment.

 

_'We may have superpowers, but we're not superheroes, Joe.'_

 

And some part of Joe knew he was right.

They were teenagers; Dumb kids who had been blessed with abilities they had no understanding of. A bunch of immature boys who had no idea about the amount of power they wielded.

For fuck's sake- Pete could control _fire_. And fire- fire was the oldest badge of power mankind had, and now, some kid from Illinois could make and control it at his fingertips. And all he used it for was lighting the occasional cigarette, as well as just watching the flames dance over his digits on a boring night.

 

And fuck, _shapeshifting_ ; The focal point of so many legends that had been passed by word of mouth all over the world. The unlimited power to become anything- god, _anyone_ , you wanted to.

And all Patrick used it for was to scare the hell out of people; Just like that time he'd turned into a tarantula the size of a car, and had chased Pete around a forest to get back at him for something or other Joe hadn't really registered in his stupor.

 

Ink. The thing that marked and sat inside most- if not all, devices humans used, from money, to books, to- just about anything. And all of it was under Andy's command, and the only thing he'd used it for was that old money trick, making a few books more interesting, copy and pasting entire essays, and occasionally, entertaining himself by making his tattoos move. However, that latter one would cause nosebleeds so heavy that Andy would often neglect to do it.

 

He didn't blame them, he didn't resent them- he loved those idiots like they were his own blood, but the guilt of doing _nothing_ was eating Joe alive.

 

Joe could heal people. Admittedly, he hadn't done anything too squandering with his ability; He'd healed Pete's snake bite- caused by one of Patrick's idiocies, once again, and he'd healed Andy's fingers after the painful stick and poke that night in Oregon. Healing people was never wrong, or could really be scolded, but Joe felt like he could do more.

 

That's why he found himself in the Intensive Care Unit at 8am.

 

 

 

 

A little trick in life, was that confidence could get you just about anywhere.

Just walk forwards, nonchalant, relaxed- like you own the place, like you're totally meant to be there, and you'll practically be invisible. What'll give you away if fear, hesitation; Hunched shoulders and wide, shifty eyes.

So, as Joe strode forwards, crossing the reception and hardly drawing a glance from the nurse behind it, he made a point of keeping his hands in his pockets, his eyes level, and his shoulders down.

Successfully hiding himself from the tired suspicions of doctors and nurses, Joe finally came to the first door, which led into the first rows of beds. Stopping at the window in the doors, he craned his neck to see into the room; Men and women, tubes coming out of their mouths and wires coming into their veins. Motionless, eyes closed, and some webbed with dark, red lines.

 

With a quiet gulp, Joe pushed through the doors, and quietly stepped over to the first bed. His heart jolted up to his throat, getting stuck in a lump as he noticed the visitor by their loved one.

It was an old woman on the bed; White hair, eyes closed, tubes, wires, strings. Red webs against wrinkled skin, faint breathing, and weak beeps coming from the heart monitor beside her.

By the side of the bed, bottom half crumpled into a chair, and top half over the bed, was an old man. Greyed hair, tired face, closed eyes, and hand laced with the woman's tightly, as though he was keeping her tethered, as though he was keeping her alive.

Joe stifled a sad exhale at the sight, and only awkwardly edged across the side, shuffling quietly past machines and bags to stand by the woman's pillow. He lay a gentle hand on her forehead, that was covered in those red lines that made him wince, and he closed his eyes.

 

Joe didn't know how he did it only more, and the only thing going through his mind was pleading.

Pleading for the woman to be okay, pleading for the poisoned blood to disappear, pleading for the old man not to be left a widower.

It felt stupid; He felt like a little kid, praying for shit that was never really gonna happen.

Joe had wanted to be good, to help somebody, but- but he'd open his eyes, and he'd see the red webs, and nothing would've changed. Knowing his luck, his powers would be limited to cuts and shit; Sure he could still help, but, he'd be powerless against those invisible killers. The most painful, the worst shit that killed from the inside out.

So, as Joe readied himself to open his eyes, he prepared himself to see red webs. He prepared himself to see no change, to see an old lady, still on the brink of death. He prepared himself for the crushing guilt and disappointment that would drown him alive.

 

But it _worked_.

 

Her skin was clear- no webs, no dark tinge, no black fingers, no rashes- _holy shit_. Joe stared for a moment, eyes bugging out of his head as the realization of what he'd done slowly set in.

 

He'd healed somebody. He'd _actually_ healed somebody- that woman might live longer because of him, that man wouldn't have to bury his wife because of him.

 

And as Joe left that bed, and moved onto the next bed- a middle aged man, bedside table swamped with kids drawings and pictures of a grinning family, Joe felt better than he had in years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The paediatric unit had always made him feel awful; It gave him a sinkhole in his stomach, the sinking would weigh him down, make him collapse from the inside out, make him feel impossibly miserable.

The thought of kids, and some no younger than a few days, dying en masse just...it had always drained him.

 

But today was different. Today, there was an odd hope in his heart as he strode through the brightly coloured doors.

Sure, there was a slight sinking feeling, a slight paranoia that it wouldn't work another time, that he'd drained his powers, that the amount of heals had been numbered. But as Joe distracted himself with the cartoon jungle animals on the walls as he paced down the hall, he knew that wasn't true.

 

 

The first room he came across was empty, bar a little girl with a shaved head, and a puffy bandage wrapped around her head. Joe felt a little creepy, admittedly, and while he hoped nobody saw him, Joe _needed_ to do this.

He stepped inside with ginger footsteps, hazarding glances over at the walls; Pink, stickers of castles, princesses and unicorns, a bona fide dream room for a kid- if it hadn't been in an intensive paediatric unit.

The little girl looked up from her colouring book with a grin a mile wide; Huh, the extroverted sort, that'd make things easier. Worst case scenario would've been if she'd started screaming for her mommy and if Joe would've gotten arrested for creeping around in kids rooms.

 

"Hello!" There was a wire in her nose, and there were some in her arms and hands too. "Hi." Joe gave her a quick smile, quickly distracting his gaze again.  
Half of him wanted to march over to her, rip the bandage off and heal her in three seconds flat. But the other half didn't want to freak her out, or traumatise her. Yeah, traumatising kids was bad.

 

"Sit down! Here-" She bit her tongue in concentration as she leaned over to pat a plastic chair beside her, and Joe was only more glad that he hadn't picked a skittish kid.

Heart clenching, he gave her a kind smile, edged towards her and took a nervous seat on the chair beside her. The girl instantly held out a hand in a polite gesture naively copied from adults, "I'm Emily." Joe smiled softly, taking her hand with a nod and shaking it, "I'm Joe."

Emily grinned wider, wiggling to sit up straight as pride flooded her at the successful greeting. She titled her head, pressing a hand to one of her padded temples. "I'm here 'cause I got- I got a hole, here-" She pointed at the pad, and for the first time, Joe really noticed just how many bags were pumping painkillers into her system. "Why are you here?"

Joe hadn't expected the first person to ask him that to be a kid no older than five, but alas, he smiled politely and gestured towards the bandage. "I'm here to fix-"

 

"Are you a _doctor?_ "

 

The girl was smart, Joe could tell; The way dark eyes narrowed in scrutinizing suspicion was a good indicator. Joe, knowing the kid would probably never shut up if he said no, nodded. "Yeah, kinda."

Emily grinned happily, quickly moving to tug at the bandage, and as she slipped it off of her head with a grunt, Joe's face fell blank.

 

A hole, god- it looked like a...like a _bullet wound_. It sat in the middle of her left brow, wide, crusted and gaping. Fuck, who the hell would shoot _a kid?_ In the head no less- _oh god_. It looked as though it was a day away from infection or something worse- fuck.

As Joe pressed a hand over the wound, only coaxing a dazed giggle from the girl and a mumble about him being a 'silly doctor', Joe's pleads had never been stronger.

He smelt iron. It was strong- overpowering, and it burned his nostrils- god, but now that he thought about it- his nose hurt _a lot_. And, the smell was warm, and close- as though it sat by his bridge-

 

"Whoa, are you _okay?_ "

 

Joe's eyes shot open, the first thing he saw was wide and worried light eyes blinking at him. He nodded quickly, drawing his hand away from Emily's head and sighing in relief when he saw a perfectly healthy forehead, before pressing his fingers under his nostrils, feeling the warmth of what was unmistakably blood pouring onto them.

 

"Wow!" Emily touched her forehead with an awe-filled expression, eyes wide and mouth curled into an open grin as she stared at Joe as though he had fucking wings. She glanced to her sides, watching Joe wipe his nose on his sleeve before leaning forwards and lowering her voice to a whisper, as though she were telling a secret.

 

"Are you _an angel?_ "

 

Joe quickly opened his mouth to protest, god knows he didn't deserve that title, but the girl kept speaking, grin only growing brighter as excited giggles escaped her. "Doctors don't fix like that- but angels do! My grandma told me, that if you're real good and if you pray real hard-"

 

"Uh- no I-"

 

"Can you fix my friend?" She bounced up in her bed, eyes hopeful and smile pleading, and Joe could only give a dazed blink and nod. The adult intensive care had already tired him out so much, but goddamnit, he couldn't just leave now. "He's in the big room- on the fifth bed. He's got red hair, and uh- glasses, and he's got a hole in his chest-"

 

Joe felt the sinkhole fade completely as he rose from the chair, gave Emily a smile and a nod, and left the room with dried blood under his nose and a broad smile on his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy's wrist was pressed to his nostrils as he watched the last few rows of the receipts disappear, and instead, fade into that familiar pale green under his fingers. Benjamin Franklin stared up at him from the bundle of dollar bills, and with another quick glance around, Andy stuffed them into the last brown box on the row of tables, slotting the papers between a cheap can of beans and a bag of brown pasta that just looked _awful_.

He ignored the twinges of pain in his nose as he finally stumbled away, pushing through the doors and stuttering out into the long hall that would lead him out of the building. He hoped the people who got those boxes would use the money as sensibly as they'd use the food. There was never a guarantee, but it was better than doing nothing, he supposed.

Andy stepped outside, the Californian sun meeting his skin- and eyes, unfortunately, again, before he made a move to fish his phone out of his pocket. His brain was too fried to even attempt telepathy right now, and he could feel the beginnings of a migraine as big as the Atlantic above his brows.

 

_Andy: Hey, where are you guys?_

 

Years of reading comic books, years of wishing he could help people in the way those inky people on the pages did, and years of daydreaming about what he'd do had all rolled towards that day in the forest. That day he'd gotten these amazing powers he'd totally misused.

 

_PS: Santa Monica beach_

 

_JT: Any specifics? I'm trying to find you guys too._

 

_PS: We're near the skate park. Pete's staring at it forlornly 'cause he forgot his skateboard._

_PS: He's really bad anyway, but don't tell him._

 

_PW: uhh?? excuse?? you?? I'm Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3??  
_

 

Well, on the bright side, he'd only been messing around for a few months, and now, he had the rest of his life to do good things. That put a smile on his face as he paced over towards the beach, rubbing his nose and holding back hisses at the spikes of pain that plagued the bones themselves.

 

Okay, while it'd been for a good cause, Andy's face still hurt like hell.

 

As he crossed a street, quickly jogging past a car that was about to start honking at any moment, Andy glanced up as an overwhelmed gasp met his ears. His eyes were wide at first, before blinking back to normal as he tried to hide his broad smile. A woman, flanked by her two children, holding one of the familiar brown boxes from the food bank. Her jaw was wide, as were her eyes, but instead of looking over the cans and bags, she was looking down at the crumpled hundred dollar bills.

Andy gave her an innocent smile as he strode by, before sighing happily to himself and stuffing his hands in his pockets. It turns out road trips made sure you ended up with a lot of scrap paper. Scrap paper that couple by shaped and cut and manipulated into money. There'd been so much paper in fact, that if he had to guess, Andy would say he'd left ten of them in every box. And if his math skills still hadn't totally melted away during the break, that meant everyone who took a box had ended up with a thousand dollars extra.

Andy was glad his ability could be somewhat helpful; Sure, throwing fire like Pete was cool, but apart from going around lighting fires for the homeless, there wasn't much he could do to help somebody.

Pete hadn't seemed to consider it, and while Andy didn't mind his choices, but it'd been bothering Andy _himself_ for a while, and as he glanced back at the woman- grin a mile wide as she hugged and kissed her children, promising overdue birthday presents and new clothes that actually fit, Andy didn't mind the blood under his nose much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Alright asshole, give it up."

  
Pete only laughed as he tossed his phone over at Joe, turning away from the rest of the group and sitting on the edge of the bench, back facing them.  
The other three hunched over the screen, reading over the options that could potentially torture Pete.

"Some of these are so tame, like- write a bad word on your hand- he does that regardless!" Patrick shook his head with a sigh, but Joe only huffed in amusement as he pressed the button, watching the list shift and spin as it picked out the option.

"This motherfucker's gonna luck out. Just you wait."

Patrick froze, "Shit I hope so." Joe huffed in amusement; Patrick was hoping Pete's luck would rub off on him a little, since he'd have to mirror whatever the other boy suffered. "Nah, it'll be fine. There's too many fucked up ones-"

 

_Dye your hair._

 

"For fuck's sake."

"Mother-"

"Oh _thank god_."

Before more complaints- and relieved chimes, could pour their way forth, Pete snatched his phone back with a grin, before laughing raucously down at the screen. Pete tutted and threw on a dramatic expression, along with the highest, most annoying voice he could muster. "Oh fuck- _oh no_ , it sucks _so hard_ , ughhh-"

 

"I'm going to punch to you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I can't believe- this is fucking insult to injury." Joe huffed, shoving the box of brown hair dye back onto the shelf and stomping back down the aisle.

The group- bar Pete and Patrick. Pete had been nonchalantly following Joe and Andy around with a smug grin, laughing at their misfortune in finding bright hair colours. Patrick however, had just been giving overwhelmed, relieved sighs every now and then, as though they'd been building for a while.

Joe and Andy had been searching for the plain brightest colour they could find, but apparently, a lot of fucking people dyed their hair in the summertime, and the oddest colour they'd found so far was a light brown that held a weird tinge of red. There was no neon red, green or yellow, and Joe was at breaking point.

Andy however, remained optimistic as he read over the bleach they'd need for Pete's hair, all as he paced after Joe- who was reminiscent of a bull in a china shop right now.

He was tired, cranky, and Andy had noted the dried blood under his nose. He'd also noticed the distinct smell of hospital clinging to him, but Andy would save the questions for another time, a _calmer_ time.

 

Suddenly, Joe's head snapped to the side, eyes squinting and fixing on a shelf as he inched towards it, body shifting like a lion stalking its prey. His face split into a manic, tired grin, as he quickly dove a hand behind the first few rows of blacks and browns, before retrieving-

 

Pete's face dropped. Patrick's paled.

 

Neon blue, tinged with something a little more teal, and the lightest blonde Andy had ever seen.

 

The curly-haired boy grinned at them, a laugh rumbling out of his throat as he nodded at Andy, waltzing over to the checkout.

 

The whole time they'd been stood in line had held an air of tension; Pete and Patrick rocked on their heels, bounced on their toes, chewed lips, chewed nails, shifted their gazes, hunched their shoulders- they were nervous as fuck, that much was obvious.

  
Joe was still grinning like a crazy man when they finally left the store, trailing over to the closest public bathrooms they could find and edging inside. Andy was pretty sure beach bathrooms were the worst thing ever, but his thoughts were quickly pulled off of the suspiciously orphaned bathing suits and sand on the tiles, and instead, towards Pete and Patrick hunching over ceramic sinks.

Andy glanced at Joe, and the other boy glanced back, eyes alight with something like revenge. He stepped towards Pete and Patrick with a grin.

 

 

"Alright, _close your eyes_."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick rubbed his newly teal hair with a towel, making sure Joe caught his sneer and dead eyed gaze under the fabric. Pete looked less bothered by the blonde dying his hair light, and only let the wet strands drip water onto his shoulders without a care in the world.

They were bundled back into the car, legs folded, and the 'serious' cd playing lightly in the background (seeing as Patrick hadn't been fond of the 'fun' cd, featuring everything from Achy Breaky Heart to Cotton Eyed Joe). Everything was tinted a dreamy gold, as the only thing that lit up the car was the light inside itself, and a couple of blue streetlights outside.

 

The peace was a little marred by Patrick's wrinkled-nosed glares, however, and they stares would often by cast back with indignation as he grumbled, trying to work the water out of his teal strands with grunts and desperation.

 

Pete only sneaked his camera out of his bag, before clicking a quick few pictures of the blue-haired boy, and quickly earning a firm glower and a middle finger. The blonde only tipped his head back with a laugh, "Oh fuck- I'm keeping that one for sure."

Just as Patrick tried to protest once again, a tanned hand ruffled through damp strands and a look of marvel crossed Pete's face. "Dude- it's still soft, what the hell?"

 

"Pete." Patrick's closed eyes spoke for themselves, and the blonde quickly retracted his hand with a quiet string of chuckles.

 

The blue-haired boy exhaled deeply and shakily, before turning to stare at the others with a furrowed brow. "We have a long day tomorrow."

 

True. They had to make the drive to Nevada, and then there'd be a long night of drinking, most likely- if things went according to Pete and Joe's plans.

 

"So please."

 

Everyone could just about guess the next words, so with quiet, amused huffs, the other three boys tugged folded blankets free and wrapped up, all as Pete flicked the car light off and slouched back in the driver's seat.

 

Patrick blinked, eyes wide and completely surprised his nagging had actually taken root.

 

With a huff and a pleased, smug smile, Patrick curled up in the passenger seat again, smiling softly as he felt Pete's hand making the effort to tuck him in, despite their odd, strained positions.

 

**Thanks Pete.**

 

**No problem, Patrick.**

 

Patrick hazarded a stare over at his boyfriend, raising an eyebrow and trying to hide a smile, despite his irritation.  **Truth or dare- nice fucking idea-** Pete only chuckled quietly, nuzzling into the blanket with a sigh, falling asleep with Patrick's complaints about piercings and blue hair ringing through his mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy glanced over at Joe, hazarding a few words to him as he watched blue eyes shift under eyelids. **Joe?** The curly-haired boy only jolted a little, but his eyes stayed closed as he sniffed, and rubbed his cheek further into his blanket. **Yeah dude?**

Now, Andy wasn't sure if he should dance around the topic a little, or just dive in, and ask with full bluntness; He wanted to know where exactly Joe had been all day- before they'd all met up at the beach, but without sounding like an angry girlfriend. So instead, Andy went down the only other route he could think of right now: Sniffer dog.

 

**You smell like hosptial.**

 

Joe's brow furrowed, but he only gave a weak, slightly nervous smile, shifting around a little. **Thanks?** Andy huffed in amusement, but kept his eyes trained on Joe. **You went to a hosptial, right?**

Blue eyes snapped open, and Andy's squeezed shut, trying to hide the fact that he'd been staring for a solid few minutes. **How did-**

Andy sighed quietly, lips quirking upwards. **Joe, you smell like hosptial, you have healing powers, and you're a good guy. It's not a huge jump to make.**

There was silence, before Joe's voice chimed in once again, softer, and less defensive this time. **You went to a food bank, right? Like- I saw a guy and his kids with one of the boxes, and like- _a bunch_ of bills in his hand. **

Andy felt a nudge against his leg, and he opened his eyes to find Joe staring straight at him, eyes firm, yet holding something warm behind them. **That was you, wasn't it?**

The other boy only gave a tiny nod, settling back down as Joe curled up once more, eyes falling closed.

 

**I just- I wanted to- I wanted to _help_ , I don't know-**

 

**So did I.**

 

Two pairs of blue eyes peeked open again, and two gazes found each other as smiles flourished on both faces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**You're a good guy, Joe.**

 

**So are you, Andy.**

 

 

 


	15. Ball and Chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I can't write partying, I'm v sorry.

 

The bright lights were just cool enough to distract Andy from the bundle of nerves in his stomach, as well as his weak knees and lump in his throat.

 

Focus on the neon, on the replicas, on the fountains, not on the fake ID in your pocket.

 

Andy still couldn't help the slight blankness his face carried, and he could help but sigh every time Pete suggested another excellent idea. Sure, he loved the guy, but goddamnit, Andy was seventeen years old- or aka, _illegal_ , for most of the shit Pete was suggesting, and he was _not_ a fan of debauchery.

Through bright grins and reassuring claps on the shoulder, Pete had chimed in with wise phrases such as 'You don't know if you like it until you try it.' And fuck, while he had _a point_ , Andy didn't like the idea of ingesting so much alcohol that he'd forget his own name.

He'd gotten an A+ in chemistry, and with that grade came the knowledge of exactly what alcohol did to your organs- and god, not to mention what it did to your blood. But did Pete and Joe care, or listen to chemistry knowledge?- No, no they didn't.

So, Andy was stuck trailing along the Las Vegas strip with Joe and Pete- who were practically bouncing and hand their hands in their pockets, fingers curled around their precious, manipulated IDs.

 

Andy glanced over at Patrick; The boy prodded along with bags under his eyes, a few yawns leaving his mouth, and a hood covering newly teal hair that he'd been complaining about for the entire drive from California to Nevada.

With a sniff and the ghost of a nudge at Pete, Patrick raised an eyebrow and gave his boyfriend a long suffering look. "So uh, I am gonna have to keep you away from the casinos, or…?" The newly blonde only laughed, shaking his head with crinkled eyes and throwing an arm around Patrick's shoulders. "I'm not _that_ stupid, Patrick."

Patrick only smiled ruefully, giving a miniscule roll of his eyes and gazing over at a strip of lights and signs. "Could've fooled me."

As Pete pressed a dramatic hand over his heart, making indignant, wounded sounds as he squeezed the blue-haired boy closer- much to his amusement and irritation, Andy felt a gentle nudge in his ribs.

With a blink, he shook himself from the Pete and Patrick situation, and instead, glanced towards his other side to find Joe. "So- uh- how you doing?" Andy held back a confused look and instead, raised his eyebrows with a nod, "Fine, thanks, uh- you?" Joe nodded back, smile quick but eager as Pete shepherded them into some purple tinted place eerily named 'Voodoo', all while grinning like a maniac.

 

The insane grin was still there when Pete slid a few glasses over to them, two for each, and all drifting with an impressively chemical smell.

Pete and Joe tipped back without hesitation, grins broad at first, before shocked laughter and stuttered grimaces took their places.

 

Andy had honestly expected a little resistance from Patrick. But, much to his surprise, the blue-haired boy gave the others a deadpan, blaming look, before downing the shots, one after another. His grimaced shook his entire body, he recoiled and hissed, eyes squeezing shut as he shuddered for a beat.

And then the eyes, grins, and words of coaxing all fell onto Andy; Nudges in the ribs, claps on the shoulder, and Andy was sipping his way through a shot, all with a grimace and a wrinkled nose- as well as a glare, afterwards.

 

The second set of shots were glow in the dark, and tipped back in a club just dark enough to leave luminescent drops everywhere.

The third had been red; As bright as cherry, but they tasted like anything but. The fourth had been clear, and had contained actual, dead scorpions. In normal circumstances, Andy would've tossed the thing off of the roof. But unfortunately, these weren't normal circumstances, and Andy ended up with a throat full of scorpion.

Andy hardly remembered the fifth, but he was pretty sure they'd been layered- and he was pretty sure they'd been on fire at one point.

Now, Andy was almost 60% positive the sixth had been pink or something, he was pretty sure Pete had ordered them for a joke or- or something, fuck, okay, it was a little blurry, admittedly.

So. The ninth- no, no- the seventh, okay- they'd been...jello...maybe...or maybe- Andy wasn't too sure, but he would put like, five dollars on them being yellow, and tasting like lemon pledge.

And, that was where things kinda…cut off, for Andy. He was pretty sure he could remember Pete's voice- Joe's too, but they were a little faint, and really distant. He remembered feeling something stinging his knees, and he could feel the ghosts of hands hauling him forwards.  
He heard squeaky soles against polished floor, he saw a lot of white- along with flashes of other colours, but everything was dim and subdued again in a few moments.

He remembered hearing keys, doors, shuffling- then everything went kinda...muffled, and finally- Andy felt his head drop against a pillow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A headache. A really fucking big one. That was the first thing Patrick felt.

Then he felt an arm over his waist; It was lazy, strewn, and made of that familiar sinew. He knew it lay golden and inked across him, and he felt a lazy smile etch onto his face at the familiar weight- as well as the warmth against his back. It'd been a while- since Oregon, actually, since he'd woken up with Pete.

Patrick rubbed his cheek against the pillow under his head, shifted back towards the warmth and huffing loudly went he felt Pete's hips press into him- wait. Pillow. They didn't- they didn't have, or rather, they didn't use pillows in the car, unless they slept in the back- no but, they hadn't.

What had they been doing? Fuck- okay, they'd been in...San Jose? No, that wasn't right. Fuck, where- wait, was it...was it, Nevada?  
Yeah, that seemed familiar- now that he thought about it, he remembered seeing the Tour Eiffel, and seeing as they probably hadn't grabbed a flight to Paris last night, he was pretty sure Nevada was right.

 

But that didn't explain the pillow. They never slept in hotels, no- they usually retired to the car, no matter how much their cramped limbs demanded a mattress.

 

Fighting back his headache with a furrow of his brow, Patrick crooked his eyes open and was instantly blinded by a bright beam of sunlight that hit him directly in the face. With a groan, he turned away, shuffling into the pleasant shadows of Pete's chest instead. Pete's...bare, chest. Okay, a little weird, but- wait, no- Now that Patrick thought about it, he felt pretty bare too, and cold- yeah, he was definitely lacking something right now.  
Forcing his eyes open again, Patrick glanced upwards to see Pete; Asleep, eyes closed, breathing soft, a few oddly strained muscles twitching under his skin- sometimes, Patrick preferred a sleeping Pete. Quieter, less annoying, and significantly cuter.

He hazarded a glance downwards, and squinted a little as he found boxers on his hips, but bare legs. Weird, Pete wasn't the type of guy to get dressed after- Hang on.

 

He was wearing a sock.

 

A weak attempt to tug it off had been made, that much was obvious, but, that wasn't the weird thing here. Pete did _not_ wear socks during

 

Patrick's eyes shot open wide.

 

Okay.

 

Waking up next to a half naked Pete would've been excusable. He could understand that. He could fathom how they'd gotten into that situation, and he could guess what exactly had happened.

 

But.

 

As for Joe and Andy lying on the other side on the bed- Patrick had no fucking explanation for that one.

 

They were pressed into each other too, with Joe clinging onto the other boy like an overly attached sloth, whilst Andy hugged him as though he were a teddy bear.

 

Weird. But as Patrick's slow-processing mind took in the fact that Joe and Andy were indeed dressed, the spark of panic in his chest that had been slowly escalating died down, and was instead replaced with a profound, painful, and just plain irritating feeling of confusion.

 

"Uh-" The groaned words were the only thing that left Patrick's throat, before he felt just how fucking raw it was- oh fuck, what-

 

"I don't wanna get up mom- jus'-"

 

"Joe- Joe, can you hear me?" Patrick was practically crawling over Pete at this point, his ribs dug into Pete's and every time he faltered or dropped, he heard the blonde grunt below him.

Joe's eyelids twitched for a second, before he blinked them open slowly. At seeing, A. He was sleep cuddling Andy, and B. Pete and Patrick were mostly naked- bar underwear, thank god, Joe jolted upwards and thumped his way out of bed.

Patrick winced at the loud, painful thud, accompanied with the low, strangled groan from Joe, before he sat up on his shaky knees, hands gripping Pete's side and hip for balance as he tried to glance over the mattress' edge. "Joe- Joe- are you alive, or-"

Joe's hands gripped the mattress, and they were promptly followed by Joe heaving himself up onto his knees with dead eyes. As soon as said dull eyes met Andy- and the almost naked couple beside them, they sprang to life, flooding with panic and locking on Patrick as his jaw dropped open in a look of something indescribable.

 

Then, Joe's eyes dropped to Patrick's left hand.

 

Patrick furrowed his brow, before he too, dropped his gaze, curious as to what the fuss was about when-

 

 

"Oh my god."

 

 

There was a ring. There was _a ring_. There was a ring on Patrick's ring finger- oh fuck.

With a jolt, Patrick shot his head up to Joe's left hand, and quickly found- "Oh my _god_." Joe's eyes fell towards his own hand, and at the sight of the ring, he gave a rasped inhale, jaw falling even wider than it'd been before.

 

Fuck- had he married _Joe?_ Oh shit- no, that- why had he married anyone in the first- fuck.

 

Patrick dropped back onto his heels, hands scrambling as he tugged Pete's left hand out from under a fold in the comforter. As he tugged the left wrist into his hand, his heart both relaxed and exploded. Pete was wearing a ring too- "Patrick- whatthefuck are you doing, god-" Pete tugged his hand back, letting it drop to the mattress as he curled up a little more, and shielded his eyes from the sun.

The words 'Check Andy' were heavy on his tongue, but ultimately unspoken as he looked up to find Joe's white knuckled hand around Andy's left wrist, eyes frozen on the band on his finger.

 

There was silence. Silence that paved the way for smooth panic to set in. A panic that coated their entire minds in thick layers of thudding hearts and heavy breathing, and suddenly, Patrick couldn't bear it anymore.

 

He dove off of the bed, quickly rooting around on the floor to find clothes. As he tugged on an old, iron maiden shirt, Patrick couldn't be too bothered by the fact that it probably belonged to Pete. As soon as he'd fought his own jeans onto his legs, panic had taken a back seat to anger.

With a growl nestled in the back of his throat, Patrick thundered over to Pete, shaking him violently with the mission to _wake him the fuck up because this wasn't a fucking game_.

  
Pete burst fully awake with a groan and a bat of his arm that shoved Patrick away- only serving to light a spark of rage in the blue-haired boy. He exhaled shakily, before finally giving up and dragging Pete off of the edge, giving him a stern glare as he whined from the hotel room floor.

 

He snatched up the remaining clothes on the floor, and tossed them over to Pete a little harder than he should've, before glancing up to find that Joe and Andy were both awake and silently freaking out at the rings on their fingers in hurried whispers.

 

" _Pete_ -"

"Yeah yeah, I get the- chill the fuck out dude." Patrick swallowed down the lump in his throat, and the frustrated scream he was dying to give, and instead, squinted at Pete as he tugged the hoodie that Patrick had stolen from him this week on. The blonde only glanced up at Patrick as he fought black skinny jeans on, which now, in hindsight, must've felt like an awful idea.

Fully dressed, Pete took to his feet with trembling knees, and a heavy yawn that was accompanied by a violent stretch. "Alright-" He fell lax with a groan, rubbing a hand against his eye and running it through his dyed hair not long after. "What's up?"

 

_Where_ to begin, _motherfucker_. But despite his intense urge to sass the living hell out of Pete right now, Patrick bit his tongue and glanced over at Joe and Andy with a plead in his eyes. Joe cleared his throat, eyes still wide but jaw fought closed. Blue eyes flitted between everyone in the room, and Patrick could practically feel the nerves radiating from Joe.

 

"We should- uh…" Joe's chest swelled as he stifled what was no doubt a long, pained and plain exhausted sigh, and instead,  pressed his mouth into a line and nodded firmly. 

 

"We should go have breakfast."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe hated breakfast. And honestly, the fucking maelstrom in his stomach right now was not helping that hatred in the slightest.

 

The band on his finger felt like white, hot iron against his skin, burning and heavy. He couldn't look over at Andy without feeling a little worse, but somehow, a little better. Andy calmed him down to no end, but the thought that- oh god, that something had actually happened between them...fuck, that was very slowly but surely killing Joe.

 

Pete, on finding out that he was most likely married to Patrick- or, fuck, to someone else, who the hell knows- had spent a full good minute slack jawed...Before wholeheartedly praising his drunk counterpart's life choices.

 

He currently had a red patch on his jaw, where Patrick had socked him with a bony fist.

 

Patrick's face was tinged with a spark of sympathy as he watched Pete nurse the splotch with a bottle of water. The blonde quirked an eyebrow at Patrick, hiding his smile despite the new bruise on his jaw. "This is spousal abuse and I will not stand for it." The laughter from the others was nervous, but held a real try.

Pete sniffed with a small smile and put down the bottle, quickly moving over to his bag on a mission to stuff the water inside before they headed out. Nobody had had a particularly good appetite that morning, on account of the...situation, so after a series of awkward and quiet words, they'd eventually decided to leave once Pete was happy with how cold his bruise was.

Suddenly, the blonde's brow dropped into a furrow, and his hand became a little more demanding as it rooted around in the bag, all before it emerged with its fingers clasped around-

 

"Your camera?" Patrick's face was blank, but his eyes were full of realization as he scooted over in the booth, head leaning towards the sight as Pete pushed some buttons and the screen came to life.

Joe and Andy leaned forwards with expectation and hope in their eyes. Maybe this had all been a dare- like, 'Wear wedding rings for a day' or something. That was a possibility right? They hadn't just gotten drunk married in Las Vegas, right? They weren't that fucking stupid, right?

 

Pete and Patrick's eyes shot open wide, and they instantly flushed red as Pete guarded the screen to his chest for a moment. Patrick shuddered for a moment, before giving Pete a wide and warning stare. Patrick did not want pictures of himself in...compromising situations, out there in the world. He wasn't keen on there being actual, _solid_ proof Pete's dick had been down his throat. "Delete that."

Patrick usually loved Pete's grin; It was white, bright and just full of joy. And god, when it reached his eyes and left those adorable crinkles in their corners, Patrick's heart would always melt.

 

But he wasn't appreciating the grin right now.

 

"Pete." The words were coupled with a warning twitch of his eyes, and Pete only laughed as he skipped the picture- only to be faced with yet another. Patrick's lidded eyes blown wide, his cheeks and nose flushed red, his dyed hair damp with sweat and strewn across his forehead- looking like plain and utter _sex_ , and all topped off with his lips stretched around Pete's- Oh for fuck's sake. Patrick groaned, hiding his face and being ridiculously glad the screen remained just out of Joe and Andy's gazes. "Pete- delete it."

The blonde only laughed loudly, tilting the screen towards him as he skipped the picture, only to be faced with another- Pete pressed against his cheek- fuck, Patrick could only groan miserably. That was before a spark of anger hit Patrick, and he quickly gave Pete a deadly glower- that quickly urged the blonde in skipping all dirty pictures until-

 

Pete's face dropped. Patrick's face dropped. Both pairs of eyes locked on the screen, unable to tear away, even as Joe and Andy started questioning.  
  
Joe sighed heavily, making a move to stand before he froze. "Is it porn? 'Cause if it's porn, I don't wanna see it." Pete and Patrick could only muster head tilts at the picture, and it was enough to urge Joe's surge forwards. He stood behind them, dropped his head and in an instant, his face fell blank. Well, fuck, Andy just had to know now, right?

By the time he rounded the booth, and by the time he'd ducked down to see the screen, he'd totally understood why faces had dropped.

 

It was...blurry, but there was definitely a church, of sorts- that much was decipherable. And there was also a man in a suit, checking ID cards- oh fuck.  
Patrick dropped his head into his hands and groaned, and his miserable sounds only increased in volume as the next picture skipped onto screen; Rings, beams, and a very uncoordinated kiss.

 

As much as Joe wanted to laugh wildly, and make some dumb joke about Pete and Patrick actually being married, he knew there was a possibility that he and Andy were in the exact same situation. And as the next image rolled onto the camera, Joe and Andy fell into strangled gasps too.

The picture was a little steadier, probably thanks to Pete's skill, and it was clearly framed in something resembling a church, only...with a Star of David, on the wall- oh shit-

 

Joe hardly slurred the words out properly through his stupor and throbbing headache, eyes falling narrow as he dropped onto his forearms. "We got- _Jew_ married?" He glanced back over his shoulder, finding Andy- oh fuck, he looked pale. Way too pale, oh fuck. "Hey, dude- are you okay?" In a second, Joe straightened up, quickly placing a firm yet steadying hand on Andy's shoulder as he gave a bleary blink.

The other boy gulped heavily, features twitching and muscles writhing nervously as he nodded silently. Joe nodded too, suddenly realizing just how long he'd kept his hand on Andy's shoulder, before he dropped it with a smile and a glance back towards the camera.

The picture made Patrick tut in annoyance, while it only made Pete snicker; Arm hooked around Patrick's shoulder, Pete grinned drunkenly at the camera as his hand swept blue hair away from a pale chin, index finger pointing out the freckle on the smaller boy's forehead. They looked happy. Like an actual married couple, somehow. Fuck- Pete and Patrick _fit_. Pete and Patrick _made sense_ , but- Joe and Andy, god. Joe liked Andy, he couldn't deny that, but they hadn't- they weren't-

 

Joe could only stare helplessly as the picture changed, to one of Joe and Andy instead, drunk grins, cheeks pressed together, and arms looped around shoulders lazily, rings glinting on their fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"There's fucking-" Joe grunted for a moment as he pulled off his sneaker, "Glass in my sole, fuck this-"

Pete hummed from the front seat, chewing his way through a gummy worm as he nodded down at the map, "That's what happens when you have a Jewish wedding, dude."  
Joe ignored the lurch in his throat, and instead, focused on pulling the tiny shards out of the rubber. Apparently they'd managed to convince a church and a synagogue that they were actually sober enough to consent to marriage. Maybe it was due to the fact that they didn't have sick all over them, and that they had actually formed cohesive words. But why they hadn't used a _cloth_ over the glass was beyond him, but fuck, too late to go fix it now.

Joe wondered what it'd be like to have a time travelling power, rather than a healing one. It'd sure solve a lot of problems for him right now.

He hazarded a glance over at his hus- at Andy. Andy. Not his hus- fuck. Joe shook his head at himself, rubbing his temples deeply and wishing the new waves of throbbing would stop. He'd just about had enough energy and competence to heal their hangovers that morning, but Joe's headaches kept popping back up whenever he considered the fact that he was married now a little too much.

 

Joe glanced upwards, finding the front seats and squinting over at Patrick.

 

He'd been quiet- not completely silent, as Andy had, but just...quiet. His stares would glaze over, and become a thousand yards long as he gazed into thin air. Joe had tried to sneak into his thoughts a few times, but the guy had a fucking firewall up. He was focused, and in deep concentration, apparently.

Joe couldn't help but wish he was in their position; That'd he'd married someone he was already with. Because, fuck, who knows, maybe Pete and Patrick would've ended up tying the knot anyway, but it wasn't that clean cut with Joe.

He sighed, letting his palms rest over his eyes. It was all gonna be okay. They were gonna get back to Illinois, and they were gonna get enough money to file divorces. They were gonna get divorced. Nobody would ever know; Their parents wouldn't find out. They were gonna be fine. It was gonna be okay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**It's gonna be okay.**

 

Patrick blinked at the voice in his head, before turning to cast a glance over at Pete. He tried a shaky smile, trying his best to hide the heartbeat that had been thundering against his ribs all morning.  **I know.**

Pete smiled, leaning back as the car started, and as he quickly glanced down at the map again, eyes following the route from Nevada to Arizona.

 

The drive was mostly quiet, it was only marred by breathing, and occasional tired sighs. It had been raining, and Patrick had been contenting himself by staring out through the window, watching the droplets hit and roll down the down. 

He nuzzled into the collar of another hoodie he'd stolen from Pete; It was ridiculous- yellow and covered in cartoon diamonds and dollar signs, but then again, it belonged to Pete, some level of idiocy was expected. It smelled of him, and as it left the scent in Patrick's nostrils, he felt himself calm down immeasurably. Pete always calmed him down- only, usually after he'd been the one to infuriate him.

He glanced over towards the dyed blonde, hands on the wheel and bagged eyes staring out at the road. Patrick's eyes brushed over the now purple-tinged splotch on his jaw, and he felt his heart clench as a wave of guilt crashed into him, its cold grip making him shudder. 

Pete had been putting on a brave face; He'd been laughing, joking- he'd been trying to inject some kind of humour into the grave situation. He'd been trying to keep them sane, and Patrick had punched him for it. He'd been so worked up, so panicky, so scared- he'd just lost it, and fuck, he felt like a piece of shit for it.

 

**It's okay, Trick. I was being dumb.**

 

Blue eyes widened softly at the words, and a gentle smile quickly followed. The blonde cast a glance over to his side, quickly catching Patrick's eye with a kind smile.  **It'll be okay dude, I promise.**

Patrick gave a hurried nod, feeling hot tears prickling at his eyes as the lump in his throat writhed under his skin.  **I know, Pete.**

Pete's smile broadened, and he tried a glance over his shoulder, coaxing Patrick to hazard a look backwards as well. Wide eyes caught Joe and Andy, squished against car doors, huddled in their sweaters, and staring out of the windows wordlessly. 

They had this so much worse, and Patrick's heart ached for them. At least Patrick had Pete to really fall back on. At least they loved each other- fuck, at least they could talk about it. But Joe and Andy...oh boy. 

They'd been edging along the tadpole stages of a relationship. They were both crushing on each other, that much was obvious- well, obvious to anyone  _ but _ them. They'd been gaining respect, care- Jesus, even love. And now, this had set the awkwardness back to its highest mode, and it hurt to watch.

Patrick gulped and tried a glance back at Pete, finding soft brown eyes that reassured him in the best way.  **They'll be okay too.**

The blue-haired boy nodded, falling back into his seat with a quiet sigh and a stare at the ceiling. He chewed his lip, eyes fluttering shut and  mind clearing as he let Pete's words in like a waterfall.

 

 

**We're gonna be okay, Patrick.**

 

 

 


	16. Sleep Deprived and Honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello bois and grils, since I'm an indecisive little shit, and since I wanna be a good supplier/I trust your opinions, here's another straw poll!  
> So far, I have around two/three options for the next fic, but I'd like to know what you guys think/what you'd like to read! (Also, A/N: This fic isn't gonna be over for a few more chapters, don't worry)
> 
> The two fic types I'm offering right now are, A: Historical, or B: Modern.
> 
> In order for you have a vague idea of what you're voting for, here's a quick overview of the choices that'll come with the types (did that make any sense, I'm very tired lol)
> 
> Historical:
> 
> A: Peterick. Other ships are being considered. Civil War au. Southern Pete (sounds weird, but coupled with the biracial thing, it's v angsty). Northerner Patrick. Running away. Differing opinions. Racism, etc.
> 
> B: Peterick. Centuries au. Centurion Pete. German tribesman Patrick (think Vikings without the boats, kinda). Set during the Roman invasion of the rest of Europe. Travelling. Rivals to lovers (eyy). Mocking, sarcasm, language barrier. Taming (?? Like, teaching Patrick how to not bite and yell obscenities at people). A lot of sasstrick.
> 
> Modern:
> 
> A: Peterick. Coffee shop au. Disabilities (prosthetics). Patrick works at said coffee shop, Pete's the grumpy regular with a runner prosthetic. Very fluffy, kinda angsty, but over all, just a very sweet™ time.
> 
> B: Peterick and Trohley. The suicide/reanimated fic idea that lost last time. As a refresher: Medication. Pete's a reanimated corpse, basically. Suicide aftermath without the actual death. A lot of angst, and a lot of dark humour.
> 
>  
> 
> Go here and vote! http://www.strawpoll.me/14046804 (closed!)

 

Things had been quiet.

 

_Too quiet_. 

 

Okay, jokes aside, Pete was concerned. Sure, _accidentally getting married_ and _inadvertently messing up your life for a little while_ was a pretty good reason to be quiet, but Pete didn't get the issue.

Pete would've married Patrick anyway, that'd been his long term plan, actually- and, sure, while things were a little more complicated with Joe and Andy, they both liked each other, fuck, that was obvious.

As Pete sat in the dirt, shoulder blades against a fender, and eyes squinting out at the sunrise behind a Walmart, he finally made up his mind.

 

He was gonna fix this shit _for_ them.

 

Pete had tried being subtle and quiet- he really had, but Joe and Andy were starting to feel like a broken record; Going round and round on the wheel of silent awkwardness, and Pete had had enough.

He glared out at the red and blue sunrise, inhaling deeply and exhaling sharply. If they weren't gonna sort themselves out, he was gonna do it for them.

 

**What are you gonna _do_ Pete?**

 

Pete jumped, eyes widening as he glanced over his shoulder, only to find Patrick.

The boy was bundled in Pete's sweater, and coupled with the bags under his eyes and the red tint on his nose and ears, Pete couldn't help but smile at him. He shrugged as Patrick sat down next to him, shoulders pressing together as he tilted his head. "I dunno. I was kinda just gonna…" As soon as his words had faded, Patrick's jumped in to seal the void. "Tell them?"  
Pete's smile broadened and he huffed in amusement; Patrick knew him far too well.

The blue-haired boy nudged him in the arm, before dropping his head on Pete's shoulder with a sigh at the sky. They sat in silence for a good few moments, but eventually, Pete could hardly stand it. "This is a little early for you,  isn't it? " 

Patrick scoffed quietly, but Pete could hear the smile behind it. " You're a good motivation." Pete laughed so hard his eyes crinkled at the corners, his head tipped back against the metal of the bar, and the sound was soon rewarded with a nudge from Patrick.  "Shut up and watch the sunrise."

 

"Gotcha, _honey_."

 

"Pete."

 

"Whatever you say, _dear_."

 

The words were rewarded with a dead look from Patrick, that with the help of Pete's grin, quickly became much brighter. With a sniff, Patrick dropped his head onto his boyfr- no, his _husband's_ shoulder, once again, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of Pete's shirt with a soft smile.

 

"Love you."

 

"Love you too."

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Patrick?"

 

"Mph?"

 

"I was gonna marry you anyway."

 

Patrick chuckled, it was warm, soft, and thick like treacle in Pete's ears. A kiss was pressed to his cheek, and Pete couldn't help but beam. Another sigh, another drop on his shoulder, and Patrick's arms curled around Pete's bicep as he sighed happily.

 

"Good to know."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Alright, motherfuckers."

 

Pete opened the car doors with a slam, poking his head into the backseat with a mission.

"Pete- maybe, like-" Patrick sighed from over his shoulder, giving Joe and Andy a sympathetic glance as they jolted awake, cramped limbs kicking out and folded necks strained by the rude awakening.

"C'mon, get out of there." Pete stepped back from the door with a gesture of his arm, exhaling sharply as Joe clambered out with an exhausted look on his face, before he was quickly followed by Andy- who looked even more tired, if possible.

Dull eyes, drooped eyelids, and mouths curling into yawns met Pete, and in return, the blonde only crossed his arms with a firm look about him.

 

"You like you, and you like you." Pete spoke with stern gestures that were completely missed by the two half-asleep boys in front of him, who only blinked slowly and stared at him dumbfounded. Joe tried first, voice raspy and eyes fighting to stay open. "What...?"

Pete squinted for a moment, eyes darting between both boys, all before he jabbed a finger at Joe. "You, Joesph Trohman-" The accusatory finger moved to Andy, "Like you, Andrew Hurley." Two pairs of blue eyes sobered up considerably, two faces went red, and two gazes dropped away to the concrete as throats were cleared. In a quiet step, Andy tried to move back into the car- but not before Pete cleared his throat and gave him a blank stare which froze him in his footsteps.

 

"Okay." Standing behind Pete with his hands shoved in his pockets, Patrick had been watching this train wreck unfold for far too long. So, with a gentle hand on Pete's shoulder, along with a raised brow at Joe and Andy. "Look, guys-"

Andy buried his face in his hands with a sigh. "Jesus Christ, Patrick, I just-"

"Listen." Patrick splayed a hand for a moment, keeping his eyes wide and reassuring. "Just- okay, it's really, really obvious that you both like each other, so-"

"Patrick," Joe tried his own firm look, and partially succeeded, even through his stupor. "I don't- I don't know what you guys are trying to do here, but-"

"You both like each other. You're also accidentally married." The words killed Joe and Andy's voices in the pits of their throat, and they could only stare helplessly at concrete as Patrick continued. "So, for the love of god, _talk to each other_."

Pete nodded eagerly, brows raised and eyes wide. "Yeah, like- Jesus Christ, you guys are creepy when you're quiet."

 

Andy hazarded a glance at Joe, looking up just in time to catch Joe's stare. The curly-haired boy sighed, turning his stare, which had gotten a little more irritated, at Pete and Patrick. "Could you give us a minute? Or, are you-"

 

"C'mon Pete." Hooking a hand around Pete's bicep, Patrick quickly tugged his husband away to the Walmart behind them, not even trying a glance behind him as he soldiered forwards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Dude, look how many types of Peeps there are-"

 

"Pete, we're not buying Peeps." With a subtle drag away from the junk food aisle, because apparently he was married to a fucking child, Patrick shook his head as he bounced up on his toes, trying a stare out through the window. He spotted their car with ease, and his eyes found Joe and Andy just as quickly; They were talking, and it looked calm. That was a relief.

Patrick dropped back onto his heels, turning to give Pete a tired smile. "We just gotta kill some time." Pete's grin was instantaneous, and Patrick didn't like it at all.

 

"I have an idea."

 

With a laugh suppressed in his throat, Pete surged through the store while he pulled his husband behind him. Husband. Fuck, Patrick still wasn't used to it, but it gave him a warm feeling that spread through him like a wildfire. It made him smile, it made him happy- god, Patrick felt guilty for being so happy at their mishap.

 

So when Pete pulled him into the bathrooms, and then into a stall, he couldn't bring himself to be too annoyed.

 

Pete only stared down at him for a moment. Eyes soft, hands pressed on the stall wall by Patrick's shoulders, and lips curled into an easy smile. Patrick couldn't help the loving look that flooded his eyes, and as he reached up to lace a hand through Pete's dyed hair, the blonde surged forwards with a tender urgency.

His lips slotted with Patrick's in a swift, practised move, and Patrick could only sigh softly as he smiled into the kiss.

Both of his hands moved to card through Pete's hair as he tilted his head, drinking in Pete's soft groans when he felt two hands pressing into the bones on his hips.

Pete Wentz. Pete motherfucking Wentz. God, he was married to Pete Wentz- fuck, his name wasn't even Patrick _Stump_ anymore; If the marriage papers were right, his name was Patrick _Wentz_ now, and Jesus Christ, Patrick never believed he'd end up in this situation. Illegally married at seventeen, and to his best friend since kindergarten/his rival since middle school.

 

**It's crazy right?** **Also- _excuse me_ , I was never your ** _**rival** _ **.**

 

Patrick huffed a laugh as he mussed a hand through short blonde strands,  **You need to stop reading my mind, Pete. You're gonna see something one day.**

Pete grinned into the kiss, before moving his mouth to nip at Patrick's jaw instead.  **Oh yeah, like what?** Patrick bit his lip, both in thought and trying to contain his moans as Pete moved onto lapping at his neck. He tilted into Pete, eyes falling shut with a flutter as he cooked up an image in his mind, hoping Pete read it loud and clear.

Dishevelled hair, swollen, spit-slick lips, red-flushed skin, and legs spread as he stared up with a dark look in his eyes; And as soon as Pete gave a quiet, shocked, and yet appreciative gasp against Patrick's neck, he knew his husband had gotten the message. Fuck,  _ his husband _ ; Patrick couldn't get enough of it.

**That's a very nice mental image.** Patrick laughed quietly as Pete pressed his mouth to Patrick's once again, finally opting to pick open Patrick's fly with an uncoordinated hand.  **And for what it's worth,** Pete pressed a soft kiss to Patrick's cheek, before giving him a broad, warm smile.  **I like calling you that too.**

Patrick grinned, holding back his giggle as Pete hitched him upwards, looping his legs around his waist and holding him back into the stall wall. Pete took a moment to kiss the tip of his nose, before finally pressing his mouth to Patrick's for the third time.  **It _is_ nice to say, you have a point there.**

Pete grinned for a moment, before dipping his head to kiss Patrick's collarbones. 

 

**Better than daddy?**

 

Despite himself, Patrick spluttered a laugh, head tipping back against the wall. "Oh god, Pete- such an asshole."

Pete only laughed back, muffling it in Patrick's pulse point as he sighed happily.  **D'you wanna go check on the guys?**

Patrick gave a shocked gasp, eyes wide and mouth dropped into an open grin.  **Do you** _**not** _ **wanna fuck me in a bathroom stall then?**

Pete's eyes shot wide as he nodded eagerly, face dipping back into Patrick's neck as he left a soft bite in the middle.  **Well, if you're offering, _dear husband_.**

Patrick's eyes crinkled shut as he bit back a groan at Pete's open kisses on his shoulder.  **Get on with it, _pumpkin_.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Just be careful with the piercings, dude. Y'know, still sensitive and all that.**

 

**I will _never_ forgive you for that shit, Pete.**

 

**But _dear_ , think of the children.**

 

**Oh god- just- shut up, I _love you_.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I'll never take you for granted again."

Joe mumbled into the mattress with a breathy sigh, hands curling into the comforter as he breathed deeply.

It'd been so goddamn long since he'd felt an actual bed under him. Like, an actual cushy mattress, an actual soft comforter, an actual pillow- and goddamn, Joe had never loved bed more. He'd already been quite an avid fan, but hey, distance makes the heart grow fonder after all.

Because they'd practically been torturing Joe and Andy this entire time, Pete and Patrick had actually agreed to get hotel rooms that night, and Joe for one, was glad he didn't have to spend a New Mexico night in a mostly black car. Taking a shower, and actually lying on a fucking bed was nice once in a while, thanks for that earth-shattering realization Pete.

Joe was just glad to finally stretch his goddamn legs for once; Being folded up in a car for the better part of a few months had really taken a toll. And well, as for being able to avoid glancing at Andy every five seconds, that was just a given positive.

Fuck, okay, admittedly, Joe felt a little more panicky without the guy, especially as the lack of noise and human interaction had left his mind spinning with the amount of bullshit he'd done on this fucking trip. The tattoo on his chest was one dumb thing, and getting married was the other disaster; It was illegal, and not to mention, he'd married the guy he had a crush on. If that hadn't killed all his chances dead, Joe had no idea what would've.

  
He shifted his head on the mattress, letting his cheek squash against the softness as he squinted up at the window. A few beams of faint light struggled and strained through dark curtains, leaving the whole room in a dark, dreamy wash that just begged him to go to sleep.

With a sigh, Joe shifted onto his side, curling his legs up and thumping his hands down, before-

 

A beam of light caught the metal on his finger, and Joe suddenly realized something odd.

 

He hadn't taken it off.

 

Back on that hungover morning, back in that shitty hotel restaurant, back in the drive to Arizona. Shit, back in Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and fuck- even now.  
All those states, all that time, and Joe was still wearing the ring.

 

And so was Andy.

 

Pete and Patrick had kept the bands firmly on their ring fingers, but that was to be expected somewhat. But- Andy. Andy hadn't taken it off. But neither had Joe. Had it slipped his mind? Or, had he left it on for a reason?

As Joe's eyes stayed pinned wide, along with his jaw, he had a burst of urge to go find Andy. To march over to his room. To knock on his door with a harsh fist. To confront him. To ask him why he was still wearing that ring.

Maybe Andy's answer would clear his own reasoning up, because in absolute truth, Joe had no idea why he himself was still wearing the ring.

 

And as he stared at it, eyes fixed on the glinting, silver band in that dim room, Joe couldn't fathom the idea of taking it off.

 

What felt like minutes, but was probably hours by the way the room darkened even more passed, when Joe heard a soft knock at the door.

 

His eyes tore from the ring, now shining faintly under the dots of blue and orange streetlights outside, and instead, flitted over to the door as he shifted up.

He stared for a second, glancing at the yellowy light flooding in through the gaps around the wood, and the knock came again, only a little harsher that time.

In something that kinda felt like a trance, Joe swung out of bed and paced towards the door. His hand wrapped around the cold metal handle, and his nose wrinkled as he could practically smell the acrid, metallic scent that clung to his hand. As another knock came, Joe finally sighed and twisted the door open, eyes dull for only a second before-

 

 

"I need to talk to you."

 

 

Andy.

Eyes firm, but there was something watery behind them. Shoulders tensed, but down, and hands trying to restrain themselves from curling into fists.

Joe's eyes lingered on the left hand for a moment, eyes tracing over the sliver of metal around Andy's finger that matched the one on his own. Joe flicked his eyes up towards Andy's once again, feeling impossibly calm as his heartbeat steadied.

"Uh-" Joe nodded with the words stuck on his tongue as he gestured Andy inside, watching him as he stepped into the room with steady footsteps and rocky shoulders.

"What uh...what d'you need?" Joe was never the best at small talk, admittedly. With his hands curled in his pockets, Joe tried a weak smile at Andy, but it was only reciprocated with a blank stare.

There was silence, and fuck, it unnerved Joe impossibly. He cleared his throat, eyes locking as he resolved to try to ignite a conversation once again, before Andy surged forwards.

A hand fisted into Joe's shirt, and a boring stare into his eyes, and Andy was serious, and quiet, and breathing deeply.

 

 

"I like you."

 

 

Joe blinked, bewildered as a million things crossed his mind all at once. "Uh- I-"  
  
"A lot." Andy's jaw shifted under his skin, and Joe was transfixed in watching the bones writhe for a moment. "Since I met you, actually." The words felt less confident as they went on, and Joe's mouth went dry as he tried a gulp. "I like you too."

Andy blinked, eyes clearing in something like surprise. Joe glanced to the side, catching the dots of streetlights before sighing out deeply and mumbling something that sounded like 'Fuck it'.

He pushed forwards, fisting his hands in a grey hoodie and slotting his mouth against Andy's. And it was like everything went clear, and murky at the same time. Like everything made sense, but everything was insane, all at once.

A shiver trailed over Joe's spine, forcing his hair to stand on end as Andy's hands moved to his jawbones, pulling him closer, and Joe was pretty sure his heart stopped blank for a second.

The next thing he knew, the mattress was under him again, only, the once empty, cold space was broken by Andy, and Joe wondered how the fuck this had actually happened.

But the second Andy pressed his hips into his own, everything left Joe's mind in an instant, and for the rest of that night, it never really came back to him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick ears buzzed with silence as he smiled into Pete's ridiculous ink necklace of thorns, nuzzling into the marks as Pete's hand caressed his back softly, calloused fingers splaying against pale skin that hadn't seen the sun more than a dozen times.

Pressing a kiss to the bones, Patrick blinked up at Pete with a lazy smile and the salt of sweat on his lips. Pete smiled down at him, brushing dyed sweated strands that were rooted with red once again, off of a pale forehead, before pressing a kiss there.

As Pete shifted in order to pull the smaller boy towards him, Patrick laughed softly and threaded an arm over his waist, all while he pressed his face into inky bones.

Pete's lips found blue hair, before soft words were whispered into the strands. "I love you." Patrick smiled just as gently, running a hand over a dipped spine. "I love you too."

He felt Pete's Adam's apple bob, and as Patrick tried a glance upwards again, Pete's voice rang out once more.

 

"I don't wanna get divorced."

 

Everything in Patrick froze and burst all at once, and as brown eyes found his own, he felt at a loss for words for the first time that night.

"I mean," Pete sighed, eyes fluttering for a moment before he tried a pleading gaze. "We can if you want to, but- I- I wanted to marry you anyway." Pete's grin was watery, and now that Patrick gazed, so were his eyes. "And- if you, if you wanna do it seriously later, we can like- do that vow renewal thing when we're thirty or something." Pete's words dissolved into easy laughter as Patrick chuckled softly.

The blue-haired boy ran a hand over the side of Pete's face, and blue eyes softened as he all but marvelled at Pete. He loved this asshole. He loved him so much it hurt, and- fuck- for once in his goddamn life, Pete was _right_ ; They could stay married. If they took the rings off, hid the papers- just kept acting like boyfriends, their parents would never know, right?

Patrick watched his digits thread through short blonde strands for a moment, before he blinked a soft look at Pete. "I wanna stay married to you too."

Pete's exhale was shaky, relieved and amazed all at once, and before Patrick could even speak, Pete had rolled the smaller boy beneath him again, caging him with his arms. Pete's gaze was soft, loving and full of a kind of burning adoration that made Patrick's heart ache.

The blonde's face grew watery, and Patrick was half sure he was holding back tears as he sobbed his words out. "I love you. Fuck-" Pete caught Patrick's lips for a moment, before pulling away with a shaky, wet sigh. "I love you so fucking much- god, Patrick-"

"Hey- it's okay." Patrick pressed cool hands on a pair of red-tinged cheeks, eyes soft, loving and just plain reassuring as he gave Pete a gentle smile. "I love you too. I love you so- I-" He sighed happily, a weak smile threading over his face through tears. "I'm glad we got our shit together. Eventually." Pete sobbed out a laugh and nodded weakly, dropping his face into a pale neck and pulling one of Patrick's hands down in order to lace his fingers with it.

Pete shifted back onto his side, pulling Patrick with him and keeping his gaze locked on blue, gold-ringed eyes the entire time.

 

"Marrying you was worth the hangover."

 

Patrick laughed softly, pressing a last kiss to Pete's mouth. "I _love you_ too."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy never thought he'd be here, to be honest.

 

Lying in a hotel bed in New Mexico, naked under bed covers, still breathing heavily from the whole amazing ordeal a few minutes ago, and curled up with an equally bare Joe Trohman.

 

He must've been a saint in a past life or something.

 

As sleep threatened to invade him, Andy tried to focus on Joe, hoping to take that mesmerizing sight with him into wherever the fuck you went where you slept, Andy could hardly remember his biology lessons right now.

Their limbs were warm, sticky, and tangled into a knot that would be hard to undo come morning. Their hands were tossed between them, fingers laced tightly like they'd been that night in Oregon. Andy still couldn't believe he was here, and he could hardly believe they were still wearing those goddamn rings. The metal clashed against metal in an easy slide as their fingers locked together, and Andy had never felt warmer.

 

Sleep had almost claimed him, and he'd been standing on its brink, ready to fall into the dreamy abyss when-

 

"Can we wait?"

 

Andy's eyes crooked open again, and he was met with an extremely sleepy, little incoherent, yet oddly sober Joe. With a squeeze of his eyes, Andy sniffed lightly. "What do you mean?"

Joe looked a little more nervous now, despite the sleep flooding him. "For the...for the divorce, thingy."

Andy could help a breathy laugh at 'divorce thingy', but then again, no one was ever extremely eloquent when they were half asleep. "You mean, stay married?"

Joe bit his lip for a second, before another gaze worked its way up to light blue eyes. "Just...just to see...see how it goes. No point in doing it twice."

Andy couldn't believe where he was, and he couldn't believe the words that poured out of his own mouth at first, before...things cleared again, and in his sleepy, yet honest state, Andy nodded softly. "Yeah. I'd like to."

Joe's lips curled into a broad, cheek-numbing smile, and he nodded back, before crawling back towards Andy and dipping his head into his shoulder, words muffling against brightly inked skin. "Thank you."

 

A combination of the words 'You're welcome' and 'Don't thank me' were on Andy's tongue as he finally succumbed to his exhaustion, falling limp and lax against Joe with a soft smile, and the feeling of a cold ring on his finger.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to vote, your opinions are very appreciated! http://www.strawpoll.me/14046804 (closed!)


	17. Honey Is For Bees

 

Andy had never hated school.

 

Sure, he'd never been very well known, or had had many friends, but for the longest time, he'd been content with reading comic books under the red tree.

 

He'd never minded the mountains of homework, the hungover or just plain pissy teachers- hell, he hadn't even minded the sheer amount of noise the other students made. He'd just about been able to deal with the complaining, the yelling, and the kids having existential crises in the corners of the halls.

He'd been pretty sure he could get through high school quietly; Reading his comics, doing his homework, and just being a generally good kid.

Andy had been planning to stay on that path for the rest of his life, actually. He'd almost been able to picture himself at university; In the library for hours on end, accompanied by coffee cups, and a total social recluse. He might've come out of his shell enough to date someone, maybe, at some point.

  
Or maybe, he would've just bought five dogs.

 

Yeah, that sounded more viable.

 

"Boy, if you don't- I'm gonna shove that baseball-"

 

"Step up, Wentz."

 

"Don't be such a little bitch, _Wentz_ -"

 

"Pete- _shut up_ -" Patrick mocked a harsh throw with a grin on his face, despite himself, before huffing in amusement and actually throwing the damn thing.

Pete hit it straight on, firing it over the metal fence and sighing happily, completely devoid of effort or exhaustion. Patrick had certainly gotten better at pitching, but in turn, Pete had gotten a lot better at batting.

Patrick huffed, running a hand through red hair that only held a faint tint at this point; Turns out they'd bought pretty cheap hair dye, and Pete and Patrick had been back to black and strawberry-blonde in no time.

 

As Pete tossed another ball Patrick's way, and stood with wide, expectant eyes, looking like a dog waiting for the ball to be thrown, Andy felt a knee nudge into his own

Tearing his eyes away from the chattering, dust and baseballs, Andy glanced up towards his side, only to find Joe smiling at him softly. "You okay? You were kinda zoning out there."

Andy nodded, giving a small blink as he tried to fight his eyes glazing over again. "Yeah, just- thinking."

Joe nodded back, but kept his eyes on Andy as a tiny smile crept onto his face once more. "It's weird, right?"

Andy could only give a breathy laugh. "Yeah, it is."

 

It _was_ weird. Incredibly so.

 

Their three months of freedom had come to an end, and just in time too, as they'd driven back to Wilmette in the nick of time.

They'd all gone completely silent for the weekend before Monday, but thanks to the amazing invention of phones, and their ability to read minds, they'd all quickly assured that everyone was just sleeping.

An entire weekend of lying in bed, hiding tattoos and piercing from parents, and hiding marriage certificates, along with rings. That's what it took to recover from the three insane, yet actually pretty enjoyable, Andy had to admit, months on the road.

Even though it had ended in a stick and poke tattoo, an awful hangover, and marriage, Andy was pretty glad he'd agreed to go.

 

And then, on that first Monday morning, there was a hurried flurry of oversleeping, falling out of bed, getting dressed, and they'd all arrived just in time to catch the bell.

 

Only to find out they had a free period first thing.

 

The same thing had happened every week since, and somehow, they only kept forgetting that they could just sleep a _little_ extra on Mondays.

 

So, instead of throwing a fit, sobbing, or burning down the school, Pete always quickly suggested going outside. Pete and Patrick would end up in light baseball practice- seeing as the redhead had no desire to start messing with garageband, and it would quickly become laced with sarcasm, mocking, and smiles throughout the whole thing. It was kinda adorable to watch, Andy had to be honest. They really fit the 'old married couple' thing.

 

And, pretty quickly, Andy had come to the conclusion that yes, school was much better with friends. Sure, it'd been really fucking hard to make them, and it probably wasn't for everyone, but holy shit, watching Pete get hit in the face with a baseball was so much better than reading comics under a tree.

 

Andy hadn't had to deal with the awkward issue of breaking off from any old friends, thankfully, but the others...well, that had been a little more complicated.

Joe had been scoffed at for not smoking weed under the very bleachers they were sat on, Pete had been squinted at for hanging out with anyone but the baseball and soccer teams, and Patrick was the constant subject of whispers from the theatre group, so much so, that he'd considered quitting. Pete had convinced him to stay, eventually, after some coaxing that involved something Andy did _not_ want to picture.

Even through the raised eyebrows, the stifled laughter and the odd stares, everyone had just learned not to give a shit. Over time, it'd all disappear and something more interesting would take their scandalous place.

 

Through day to day life, their powers had gotten stronger too; Nosebleeds were rare, and headaches were uncommon, and now, they were all fairly deft in their abilities. Pete had a penchant for annoying Patrick by holding his hand out to stuff, yelling 'accio' and pulling it over, but a quick hiss from a spider or a snake, and Pete would cut it out.

 

Joe had started making the effort to go to the hospital on weekends.

Sundays, usually, due to the amount of alcohol poisoning that would waltz in through the doors in human form. At first, he'd taken to loitering around, pressing hands to heads and clearing illnesses right there in the waiting room, whenever cameras and backs were turned.

But, after his frequent appearances had been noticed by a few doctors, Joe was offered an...apprenticeship, of sorts. They didn't let him handle scalpels or anything, it was more calming kids down, helping people walk to examination, or just plain moving equipment here and there. He didn't get paid, but with Andy's little ink trick, it was unlikely any of them would ever have to worry about money again.

  
Instead of hanging out in food banks on weekends, Andy had taken to listening. If anyone was too badly off, struggling, or just plain poor, he'd make a habit of slotting a few dollar bills through lockers, and, for now at least, it was good enough. He hoped. Sure, there were tiny surges of guilt sometimes, but Andy tried his best, he really did.

 

 

A faint bell cut across dull thuds of a baseball bat, and in a wide glance and an unspoken agreement, the four dropped everything, snatched their bags, and hurried over to the school, sharing a few words, smiles and nudges, even through the dazed stupor of Monday morning exhaustion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy always went back to the tree.  
  
He didn't mean to, it just kinda...happened.

 

Regardless, he'd been graced with a free afternoon, but seeing as Patrick was in biology, Joe was in business, and Pete was in photography, Andy was left in a little predicament. They'd agreed to meet at the forest- Pete's idea, of course, but until the bell for 3:30 rang out, Andy would be pretty darn bored.

He'd taken to reading comics under the tree again, and while it was a different kind of pass time, he couldn't completely focus. Every time he tried to read a line or scan over a picture, his mind would jump to some dumb, hilarious shit somebody had said, and he'd be forced to calm a fit of laughter before pressing on.

It was some parts infuriating, some amazing. Infuriating because he wasn't focusing enough to read his goddamn comic, but, amazing because, even when they weren't there, per se (with the telepathy, it was usually like a constant party in his head, but that was besides the point) they were, somehow.  
As Andy tried to resign himself to his comic again, a voice chimed through his head, quickly killing all possibilities of concentration.

 

**PS: Hey, guys?**

 

**AH: Yeah?**

 

**JT: Uh huh?**

 

**PW: Mph?**

 

There was a beat of silence, before Patrick's voice rang out again in a dull reading tone, echoing through his skull.

 

**PS:** **Cnidocytes and a polyp body plan are** **characteristics** **of which phylum in the Kingdom Animalia?**

 

Andy squinted at the blades of grass, teeth chewing at his bottom lip as he wracked his mind for the answer to Patrick's test that he was probably totally cheating on.

His mind struggled and slumped, and even though he could practically feel the words on the tip of his tongue- they escaped him.

But, that was before another voice chimed in with perfect speed.

 

**JT:** **Cnidaria.**

 

**PW: Holy shit, Joe.**

 

**AH: That's...actually really impressive.**

 

**PS: Oh my god, lifesaver, thanks dude.**

 

**JT: No problem.**

 

**PW: Joe- how did you- _fucking golden ratio_ \- how did you…?**

 

**JT: I've been studying? Like, I should be, _Mr. Wentz_.**

 

**PW: Is that to me or Patrick?**

 

**JT: Both of you.**

 

**PS: Aw, but-**

 

**PW: Thanks** **lol** **\- oh shit, gotta go, Mr. Woodman's glaring** **at me.**

 

As Pete and Patrick fell silent, probably getting yelled at or trying to pass a test, Andy was left with an empty head, but as he gazed out over the grass and building, he tried a small call.

 

**AH: Joe?**

 

**JT: Yeah?**

  
The response was instantaneous, and Andy was kinda glad Joe couldn't see the ridiculous smile that had spread onto his face already.

 

**JT: I know you're smiling.**

 

**AH: What- no you-**

 

Joe laughed, that warm, loud sound that Andy wanted to play on repeat.

 

**JT: You totally are, 'cause I know you too well.**

 

Andy huffed in amusement, before struggling to tuck his grin away for a Joe that wasn't there.

 

**AH:...Alright fine- I was. I'm not anymore.**

 

**JT: Aw, no c'mon, keep doing the thing.**

 

**AH: ' _The thing?'_ Also _why?_**

 

**JT: Smiling, and because you always look adorable? C'mon, that's just obvious.**

 

Andy tried to ignore the warm red on his cheeks. He really did.

 

**AH: Aren't you supposed to be studying business, right now?**

 

**JT: I finished reading the chapter, I'm allowed to check up on my husband, capiche?**

 

**AH: Alright, sorry _Mr. Capone_.**

 

**JT: Hilarious _and_ historical, good job.**

 

**AH: I know your joke taste by now, Joe.**

**AH: Nice _alliteration_ , by the way.**

 

**PW: OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS ARE _SO_ NERDY, I'M GONNA DIE.**

 

**JT: Thanks.**

 

**AH: Much appreciated.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"No, because, really think about it. It's so bad-"

 

"Broccoli is good, you cowards."

 

Patrick and Joe gave dramatic gasps, eyes shooting wide and hands clapping over hearts. "How could you _say_ that?" "But it's demon spawn, Andy."

 

"Cowards."

 

The drama died as the three of them huffed in amusement, heads dropping back down to the boxes of takeout between them.  
They'd gone back to the lake, just like they always did- but not without a few bags of takeout, and a lot of tired sarcasm.

With a sniff, Patrick glanced over his shoulder, eyes quickly catching Pete.

The dark-haired boy was stood at the lake's edge, camera in hands, viewfinder to right eye, and lens pointed at the darkening lake and pine trees. The smell of their leaves and the smell of soaked pebbles filled the grove, and Patrick idly wondered if he'd imprint that scent into his brain along with the picture Pete was probably taking right now.

Something he'd noticed about his husband (and no, Patrick wasn't over saying husband), was that he'd developed more of a...vocal love for photography. Whereas before it was that quirky little feature that not many people knew about, Pete practically hauled the camera _everywhere_ now, and he was actually paying attention in class- which was more amazing than it really should've been, he supposed.

 

Patrick strained his ears to hear Pete's happy sigh, and watched him as he paced back towards them, taking a cross-legged seat in the dirt and leaves.

"So," He plucked up his box into his lap, before hazarding a glance around at the others. "How uh...how are you guys doing?"

  
Eyebrows raised, eyes widened, glances were shot, and the other three quickly dissolved into easy laughter that had Pete protesting with a grin.

  
"Oh, yeah, I'm good, thanks." Joe nodded from over his box, "The weather's been pretty crazy, right?"  
They all spluttered into harder laughter at that, and Pete rolled his eyes through his open beam, "Alright, alright, I'm sorry."  
Patrick however, knew Pete far too well to brush it off. When Pete acted distracted, when his words were vague and his questions shallow, something was bothering him.

 

**PS: Are you okay?**

 

Pete blinked, but tried to hide his surprise from the others. **PW: I'm good.**

 

**JT: No, you're not.**

 

Pete glanced up to find Joe staring at him with a raised eyebrow, as well as Andy's knowing, quirked gaze. The dark-haired boy exhaled deeply, but despite himself, he smiled and gave a stuttered nod. "I uh...I was thinking about- about...college."

That caused real surprise. Pete Wentz thinking about college. Now that was a sign of the end times.

 

"Uh...and...what were you thinkin' about?" Patrick tried first, eyes soft and reassuring as he struggled to lower his eyebrows, shock still addling him a little.

 

"Uh...I was thinking about, going to…" Pete tested a glance upwards, before gulping and shrugging as he dropped his voice. "to, SAIC, maybe."

  
"Whoa."

"That's...actually, amazing."

Patrick tilted his head, "Didn't you wanna try sports?"

Pete shrugged again, chewing on his tongue as his jaw shifted under golden skin. "I- I did, at first, but- I don't know, my dad probably won't let-"

 

"Pete. We have a literal money printer right here-"

 

"Thanks, Joe."

 

"No problem, you're amazing- but, Pete, like, if you wanna do it, screw your _dad_."

 

A little more light sparked in Pete's eyes, and finally, he nodded with a smile, "Thanks. I uh...I'll talk to him."

Silence fell over them the minute Pete's words died, and after a few minutes of glancing, Patrick jolted a little as Joe's voice rang out.

 

"I wanna go to med school." The voice was lax, and Joe himself looked incredibly focused, all as he concentrated on the air in front of him, squinting at it as he thought out loud.

The other three had a similar reaction to Pete's announcement of wanting to go to art school, but soon enough, realization kicked in.

Joe had been spending so much free time at the hospital, and besides, he could literally heal people with his bare hands; There was a good chance nobody would die in his care.  
Yeah, now that Patrick thought about it, learning about human systems would only help him speed up the healing, right? Joe had really thought ahead here.

 

Pete squinted, head cocking slightly. "So...you're _not_ , gonna pretend to be the second coming of Jesus?" They all spluttered into a laugh, and for the first time that night, the topic of school and the future was put behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe stared up at the ridge. That ridge he and Pete had climbed on that first day in the woods. That day a purple haze drowned everything in sight. That day they jumped down into a cave. That day they found glowing boulder.

 

The day they got their powers.

 

Joe, with a last glance at the others who were doing something dumb on Pete's phone, stepped towards the little, worn and winding path up the side of the steep dirt cliff. He moved upwards, before finding himself in the grove that had been glowing all those months ago.

 

Things would've been so different.

 

If he'd been put in a different group, if he'd refused to go to the woods, if he'd never even taken geography- _holy shit_.

 

He wouldn't be married, for one. He probably wouldn't have Cerberus marked on his chest, either. He wouldn't have a fucking lip ring piercing either, thanks a lot Pete, thanks a lot.

 

...But, he _wouldn't_ be married, and fuck, _sue him_ , but Joe fucking liked being married... _specifically_ _to_ _Andy_.

 

Regardless, Joe only stood in silence, everything instead him falling steady and soles feeling tethered to the grass- like they had that purple night.

  
If they'd left the forest a few minutes earlier, if they'd ran home instead of going to explore...A few minutes, and they were set on a course that would change their lives.

Pete and Patrick would've never been forced to spend time together. They would've never sorted their differences out. They would've been heartbroken, and aching, and wanting until- god who knows for how long.

Joe would've never actually talked to Andy. He would've walked by him in the hall. He would've been another face in the sea of unknown people. Shit, they all would've just been strangers to each other.

 

To them, Joe would've just been that smart stoner under the bleachers.

 

Pete would've been that talented jock they saw when walking past the sports fields.

 

Patrick would've been that composer for the school plays- that guy who used garageband for 80% of his life.

 

Andy would've been the kid reading comics under the red tree.

 

It made Joe's stomach curl, and only for a moment, he forgot that none of that was actually the case.

 

"Hey- Joe- c'mon dude, it's getting dark!"

 

"Yeah dude, _the_ _witches_ are coming-"

 

"Fuck you Pete-"

 

"With _pleasure_. _Literally_ -"

 

" _Ew_ , for god's-"

 

Joe's lips shot up into a smile, and a warm feeling blossomed in his chest.

  
He _had_ taken geography. He _had_ been put in their group. He _had_ agreed to go to the woods. He _hadn't_ ran away from the purple. He'd, stupidly, admittedly, followed Pete down into that cave. He'd met Patrick. He'd met Pete. He'd met Andy. And they were his friends.

And piercings, tattoos, and awful roadtrip playlists aside-

 

 

Joe wouldn't have traded it for the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pete had trouble sleeping without Patrick at this point.

Body heat, soft hands on his chest, and a soft waist in his arms had all become too familiar, and Pete was missing his husband.

It'd been a few days since they'd been in a bed together, and while, sure, Pete understood sleeping together every day was off the cards, he wanted Patrick goddamnit.

But, Patrick was mostly likely asleep, or, not in the mood to talk, if he'd stayed up on his laptop again.

With a glance at his phone, that had been whispering tempting things all night, Pete swung an arm out, hand wrapping around metal and screen blinding him as it lit up the dark room.

After blinking, groaning and trying to ignore the feeling that his eyes were on fire, Pete made a beeline for the good 'ol group chat.

Sure, he could just call Patrick mentally, maybe send him a few...images, huh, that might be fun- but the point still stood. Sometimes, the simplest things were best.

 

_WetePentz: eyy britches_

 

_JoeBoy: Uhhh, r00d??_

 

_PatrickStump: I'm trying to sleep._

_PatrickStump: But my phone is buzzing._

_PatrickStump: Why?_

  
Patrick was so grumpy sometimes, it was unreal. Pete had started hypothesizing that his husband, had in fact, been born with the mindset of a grouchy old man.

 

_WetePentz: because im not sleepy_

_WetePentz: and also have a phone (Smiling Face With Horns )_

_WetePetnz: and i miss my husband uwu_

 

_PatrickStump: d i v o r c e_

 

_WetePentz: YAMETE_

 

_PatrickStump: I'm keeping the dog_

 

_WetePentz: Y A M E R O_

 

_Andy: What the actual fuck?_

 

_JoeBoy: mood lol_

 

_PatrickStump: I'm just so done. Like. All of you. I'm so tired._

 

_WetePentz: then turn ur phone off?????????????_

 

_PatrickStump: I need the alarm for school, jackass._

 

Pete grinned at the screen, eyes crinkling as he revelled in Patrick's slight misfortune.

 

_WetePentz: lol_

_WetePentz: ur screwed then_

  
_JoeBoy: lmao, poor mf._

 

_PatrickStump: Ugh._

 

_Andy: Okay._

_Andy: I'm really tired, and also happen to have an alarm clock, so…_

_Andy: See ya._

 

_JoeBoy: :)_

 

_Andy: Joe that's not PG13._

 

_WetePentz: ew stop mental fucking in our presence like_

 

_JoeBoy: :)_

 

_PatrickStump: The smiley faces are unnerving, true._

 

_JoeBoy: :D_

 

_Andy: Oh no. It's escalated._

_Andy: Also, goodnight guys._

_Andy: And stop with the R-rated stuff Joe, I'm trying to sleep._

 

_JoeBoy: >:)_

 

_Andy: Well, it was worth a try._

 

_Andy has left the chat!_

 

_WetePentz: i never knew smiley faces could be so unnerving, like??_

_WetePentz: :-0_

 

_JoeBoy: I don't fuck with the noses, nah_

 

_WetePentz: >:-)_

 

_JoeBoy: I too have an alarm clock, so_

_JoeBoy: Night, Wentz, you nose freak. And also, goodnight you, other more sane Wentz._

 

_PatrickStump: Thanks._

_PatrickStump: I don't feel very sane, but thanks._

 

_WetePentz: :-)))))))_

 

_JoeBoy: Shady._

 

_JoeBoy has left the chat!_

 

_WetePentz: hey (Negative Squared Latin Capital Letter B ≊ B Button)atrick_

 

_PatrickStump: Yeah?_

 

_WetePentz: i love u v much, so i'm gonna let you sleep_

_WetePentz: night rickster_

 

_PatrickStump: Wait_

_PatrickStump: You can't sleep, can you?_

 

Shit, Patrick knew him far too well, but that's what spending majority of a life together did, Pete supposed.

  
_WetePentz: nah, but ill work through it. maybe catch up on some studying or something_

 

_PatrickStump:...I'll sing to you?_

_PatrickStump: Would that help?_

 

_WetePentz:...i love you so fucking much babe_

 

_PatrickStump: Just get off the phone and try to sleep, I'll, brain message you or whatever._

 

Pete did as he was told, for once. He tapped the screen black and tossed it back over onto the bedside table, all before dropping his cheek against his pillow and letting his eyes flutter shut.

There was silence for a few moments, and Pete half wondered if Patrick had just tried to get rid of him. That didn't seem quite like Patrick, but the kid loved his sleep, and Pete knew he himself was a brat, he didn't blame Patrick-

 

And then, like the sun cutting through clouds, Patrick's voice rang into his head, and Pete sighed something happy and relieved.

 

It was a soft, familiar melody. They were gentle, loving words. And with all of them coming from Patrick, Pete felt his mind droop sleepy very quickly. Patrick always had that effect on him, when he wanted to.

As time passed and as sleep tugged at him, a little picture wormed its way into Pete's head. It was Patrick, pacing around in a sweater, sweatpants, and socks, all while he bounced a baby and sang it asleep. Their family. Their family that Pete wanted so bad. Their family that might be real, one day.

 

Pete didn't even consider if Patrick could see it, but as Patrick kept singing the soft words, Pete finally felt the abyss overtake him, and he fell asleep with a final whisper both into the air and into his mind.

 

"I love you."

  
  
Pete was fast asleep by the time the answer came.

 

 

"I love you too, Pete."

 

 

 

 

 


	18. The Last Of The Real Ones

 

University was hard. And fuck, Andy was exhausted.

 

Days, weeks, months, years- all filled with lectures, books, words, pages, reading, everything that made his head spin at this point. Lab equipment, chemicals, corrosives, alkalis, acids- god, everything was a blur.

No, Andy had totally forgotten the basics of bromine water, thank you very much. His mind ached with chemical formulae, his skull thrummed with reading, his wrists ached from writing, his fingertips were dusty and hard from plastic gloves, and fuck, Andy was just tired. He wanted it to be over, he didn't know why he'd even set off on this path in the first place.

Even now, as he lay in his dorm room's bed something about a meter away from his roommate, stranded on Princeton's grounds, stuck in New Jersey with no escape, he wished he was anywhere else.

Andy could feel the sun rising by now, he knew that somewhere out there, beyond dark skies, the yellow ball of light would light up the city in no time. His alarm clock would ring, he'd bat it silent with a fist, and then he'd pull himself away from the warm mattress and covers, with the heaviest heart in the world.

Feeling nauseous, he'd grab his clothes, go to the bathroom, and he'd brush his teeth, while trying to simultaneously get dressed, and not to throw up at the taste of toothpaste slipping down his throat.

Or maybe he'd whine at the alarm, maybe he'd bury himself into the comforter further, maybe he'd block out the irritating beeping with his hands, and maybe,  _just maybe_ his roommate would pace over, and shake him by the shoulder.

 

Andy heard the ghostly alarm crack through his skull, and with a whine escaping him, he felt his roommate's hand tugging at his shirt, right over his shoulder blade. Andy wanted to jump out the window.

 

"Daddy?"

 

The voice was tiny and young, and it definitely didn't belong to his old college roommate; No, that voice definitely, probably belonged to his kid. But, alas, Andy's school-traumatised and extremely tired mind did not grasp that fact at all.

So instead, Andy, the responsible father, groaned in the back of his throat, and only pressed his face further into his pillow, but all before the tiny hand tugged at his shirt once more. "Daddy?"

He whined again, and silence fell over the room...before odd clunking started sounding. Andy finally blinked his eyes open at the noises, mind finally realising that he'd already graduated, had a job, and was at home. No lectures awaited him, no labs called to him, and Andy was free. Or, not really. It was Monday. Fuck. Oh wait- work started late, thank god, okay.

With a sniff, Andy pulled his face out of his pillow and squinted over at the edge of the bed. In the darkness, he could just about spot a small figure dragging a chair- or, _attempting_ to drag a chair.

That was her little trick; Drag a chair around, make super loud scraping noises, and in the process, wake dad up. Andy was a little proud, and a little ashamed to say her plan hadn't failed even once yet.

 

With a yawn pressed into his palm, Andy slumped out of bed and crouched over towards the tiny figure, eyes still struggling in the darkness. "What's wrong, Amanda?"

While he couldn't see it too well, Andy could practically feel his daughter's grin the darkness, and as small hands tried to pull him towards the door, a high voice chirped out into the room. "Story!"

It was loud enough to make Joe, still lying in bed and sleeping soundly, stir with a sleepy mutter, so in order to avoid dealing with a sleep deprived and complaining husband all day, Andy quickly scooped up their daughter and left the bedroom.

As he paced towards Amanda's instead, that sat just across the hall, Andy only gave his giggling daughter a smile in the dim light that flooded in through the windows.

This was their routine at this point, and while Andy suspected he'd have to break it someday, he always reminded himself to enjoy it while it lasted; Amanda wouldn't be four years old forever, and someday, he'd miss getting up in the small hours to read her storybooks.

 

He pushed through the door, quickly put the girl down, and pulled the book he already knew she'd ask for from the small bookcase she'd insisted on. That's how they'd find her most days; Bundled up on the sofa, and tongue poking out as she squinted and read her way through a book. As soon as Amanda spotted the book in her dad's hands, she grinned happily and bounced on her toes, rushing over to her bed and climbing in.

Tugging on her night light, she sat up expectantly and shifted over, tugging at Andy's arm to pull him over next to her.

With a small laugh in the back of his throat, Andy obliged and let Amanda flop against him, ear pressed to his heartbeat as one of his hands kept the book open, and as the other smoothed her mousey hair.

 

'The Owl Who Was Afraid Of The Dark'. Andy had read this story what felt like a thousand times, but every giggle, gasp or sound of awe that poured from his daughter was worth it. He practically had the tale memorised at this point; When Amanda was younger, she was petrified of the dark, and every night, she'd end up screaming, running over to her parents' room, and sobbing her eyes dry until a lot of hot chocolate was made.

There'd been no reason for it, no traumatising event that had caused it- as far as Andy knew, so in order to clear their daughter's head a little, one of Joe's colleagues had suggested the book about the owl.

Enough pictures of twinkling stars, bursting fireworks and flickering campfires, and Amanda had quickly come around to the idea of the dark.

 

"Daddy, you have to make the pictures _move_." There was a wide eyed, firm and blue gaze staring up at him after a few minutes of reading, and Andy only chuckled to himself and nodded. The nod sated Amanda, and as her head fell back down and as her eyes focused on the pages, Andy set to work.

 

' _Making the pictures move_ '- that was the best perk of Andy's power. Sure, the money thing was pretty fun, even now...but those noises of awe and the unwavering stare at the owl paintings that would hop around was his favourite thing so far.

 

She'd been with Joe and Andy since birth; The result of a teen pregnancy case Joe had been assigned to. The mother had been distraught, terrified and far too young for a child. She'd agonised over adoption, reluctant to give her child up to the truly broken foster care system, and then offers had been made, and grateful conclusions had been reached.

She'd stayed in contact for a little while, but over the years, she'd faded away, no doubt building her own life, her own family, while leaving her daughter with hers.

 

As a painted fire crackled and flickered on the pages, surrounded by nocturnal animals that moved around curiously, Amanda finally lost her battle with her exhaustion, and finally fell asleep. With practised care, Andy shifted off of the mattress and tenderly placed Amanda's head on her pillow, before gently tugging up the covers to bundle around her. In an automatic response, she smiled and curled up, hands fisting into the fabric as she rubbed her cheek against the pillow.

 

A small smile etched its way onto Andy's features, and, with careful, silent footsteps, he paced back towards his and Joe's room, being careful to click the door shut as quietly as possible.

He slid back into bed carefully, and quickly shivered at how cold his side of the mattress had become.

He quirked an eye open, squinting over at the peacefully sleeping. Joe's side felt pretty warm from here. A small, stifled smile plastered onto Andy's face as he shifted over towards Joe, quickly wrapping an arm around his husband's side and burying his face in his shoulder.

Joe huffed and complained a little, but as the realisation that he _wasn't_ getting assaulted crept in, he finally pushed back against Andy, tangled their legs together, and laced tattooed fingers with his own.

  
Joe's voice was rasped, quiet, and still half asleep as it reeled off the automatic question after years of the same routine. "How'd it go?" Andy smiled softly, knowing Joe wouldn't really register the answer either way, but he finally gave the service of answering. "Like always. She's asleep."

A tiny, breathy yawn escaped Joe as he nodded, hand squeezing Andy's warmly. "That's good."

Pressing a final kiss on Joe's cheek, Andy finally resigned himself to sleep once more, eyes falling shut and heart calming to a steady pulse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Alright," Pete hitched his bag over his shoulder, stuttering his footsteps still and taking the others with him. Trying a broad, yet slightly shaky smile, Pete sighed out a breath. "You motherfuckers better not disappear on me."

Patrick huffed in amusement, the roll of his eyes coming as a natural consequence. "Well, there goes my plan to flee to Colombia, _ya got me_."

The four collapsed into that easy, side-aching, eye crinkling laughter that always came so naturally to them, but as minds snapped back into place, things became a little somber.  
Today was the last time they'd be together like this. The last time they'd be together in Wilmette. Tomorrow, the long stretch of real adulthood started, and things would most likely never be the same.

 

Joe was going to med school. He'd actually made it; His grades, voluntary work, and intelligence had secured him a place at Stanford med school. And despite the fees, the pressures, and the school being in California- Joe was determined to do well. Especially after getting the tuition fee bills. He'd really have to pull it out of the bag after that, if not for himself, then for his parents.

 

Pete, after long arguments and arduous silence from his dad, had finally been allowed to apply to an art school. After somehow pulling a few A+ grades, he'd been accepted into Cooper Union...in New York...His parents hadn't been best pleased. However, since his mom was ecstatic that her son was doing something a little more wholesome than sports, she'd badgered and convinced Pete's dad to finally let their eldest son go.

 

Patrick had gone through with his plan of music, and while Patrick always seemed happiest and calmest with a guitar or piano at his fingers, the redhead always seemed to blanche at the course outlines. Something about the pressure, timing, and stresses of working to deadlines, having little creative freedom, and having to bend to a few other instruments and genres seemed to dampen his spirits a little, but something good had come from his choice too.

Manhattan, New York. And a school that was only a few miles from Pete's.

Patrick had applied to a few places at the behest of his parents, and he'd been accepted by most, but, little did his parents know that Patrick already had his own plans. After long conversations with Pete, the couple had worked and moulded their plans to end up in the same city. Unbeknownst to their parents.

 

Andy had been in two minds about what to do. He didn't feel like he had a clear cut vocation like the others did.

Joe was a natural at all things academia, and with his little ability to heal people, his goal made sense.

Pete's passion did too; He'd grown more fond of photography during the trip over summer, and he was damn good at it too.

Patrick was a natural with any instrument laid out before him; Give that kid a few youtube tutorials and a tuned instrument, and he'd be a pro in a few weeks.

Whereas Andy...he was kinda...good at _everything_. And, that was meant in the least arrogant way, if anything, it was a curse, because Andy didn't know what to _do_. Everything was kinda neutral to him, but at the same time, everything interested him just around the same amount. But, unfortunately, they're weren't shallow, short degrees for everything, so Andy had been forced to make a choice.

In the end, he'd chosen chemistry. He'd always been pretty good at chemistry; He had the periodic table all but memorised, and he could remember formulae like nobody's business. Yes, _extremely_ nerdy, but true.

So, after a few applications and a lot of acceptance letters, Andy had finally taken a place at Princeton, New Jersey. Unlike Pete and Patrick, Joe and Andy may not have coordinated as well, but, as they stood outside their, now old school, it was certainly too late to fix things.

 

"It'll be fine," Joe gave a broad, yet tired smile, eyes soft and threatening to droop after a hectic last day and the promise of a frantic tomorrow. "We literally don't even need phones, like-" A few more tired laughs, and the atmosphere had finally become a little more solemn.

 

**PS: Alright, I'm not gonna say this out loud, but I'm really glad I met you guys, I love you, and if you don't stay in touch, I'm gonna find you.**

 

**JT: And kill us?**

 

The laughter was louder, but sadder, and through a few awkward initiations, a good deal of hugs, patted shoulder blades and promises to not 'fake my own death and disappear', the four finally nodded and paced their ways over to the school gates, ignoring the odd stares due to their squinting and unspoken conversations.

They lingered there for a moment, eyes looking a little wetter than usual and hearts achier than normal, before they finally sparked a conversation in their heads and forced their footsteps home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**PW: RISE (Sleeping Symbol ≊ Zzz)(Tired Face )AND GRIND(Disappointed But Relieved Face )(Necktie )(Briefcase )THAT PAPER(Gem Stone )(Banknote With Dollar Sign ≊ Dollar Banknote)(Banknote With Dollar Sign ≊ Dollar Banknote)AIN'T GON MAKE ITSELF(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)DON'T MATTER IF YOU GOT KIDS(Family )(Baby )IF YOU BY YOURSELF(Bust In Silhouette )(Flushed Face )IF U FRESH OUTTA HIGH SCHOOL(Trophy )(Crying Face )OR JAIL(Person Raising Both Hands In Celebration ≊ Person Raising Hands)(Police Officer )(Police Car )OR EVEN OLD AS FUCK(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Older Woman ≊ Old Woman)(Older Woman ≊ Old Woman)ITS MONDAY(Hourglass )(Heavy Check Mark )(Heavy Check Mark )MORNING GET YO ASS UP(Upwards Black Arrow ≊ Up Arrow)(Upwards Black Arrow ≊ Up Arrow)(Squared Up With Exclamation Mark ≊ Up! Button)(Squared Up With Exclamation Mark ≊ Up! Button)(Persevering Face )AND GET IT IN(White Right Pointing Backhand Index ≊ Backhand Index Pointing Right)(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Cat Face With Tears Of Joy )(Smiling Face With Open Mouth And Smiling Eyes )FUCK ALL THE HATERS(Confounded Face )(Pistol )(Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)YOU CAN FIND ME AT THE MF BANK(Bank )(Thumbs Up Sign ≊ Thumbs Up)(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Face With Tears Of Joy )(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)(Hundred Points Symbol ≊ Hundred Points)**

 

Joe and Andy sighed in unison, grins they always tried to stifle etching onto their faces in an instant. Despite the distance, despite university and its many, _many_ pressures, and despite absurdly long study sessions, the four had remained as close as they could be, given the circumstances.

 

**JT: And good morning to you too.**

 

**PS: He actually yelled half of that out loud. Help me.**

 

**AH: And you married that.**

 

**JT: Yeah, you're gonna have to deal with that until death dude.**

 

**PW: *sad violin starts playing***

 

**PS: Jesus-**

 

**PW: Ow- motherfucker- S P O U S A L  A B U S E**

 

Joe and Andy glanced at each other with furrowed brows and stifled smiles, **JT: Uh? You guys cool?**

 

**PW: He hit me in the face with a pillow-**

 

**PS: He knows** _**exactly** _ **what he did, and he deserves it.**

 

"Dad? Daddy?"

 

Joe and Andy leaned up on their hands, heads crooking and necks leaning over to watch the door as Amanda twisted the handle and peeked through the gap with wide, light eyes.

They both smiled and leaned forwards, smiling at the girl as she hopped forwards towards them, before looping her hands into Andy's shirt as a sign of 'pick me up' Andy knew far too well by now.

Lifting her up onto the mattress and huffing amusedly at her giggle, Amanda beamed at her parents as she moved to curl up in the middle of them.

Joe and Andy chuckled with a glance at each other, before Joe moved a hand to ruffle light brown strands. "D'you want breakfast, Amanda?" In a second, the girl bounced up, all beaming and bright eyes as she nodded frantically with a shout of- "Waffles!"

 

 

As Joe scooped their daughter up, and the three of them paced over towards the door, finally stepping down the stairs towards the kitchen. As soon as Amanda's feet hit the wooden slates, she'd rushed over to the pantry in a vain attempt to reach it.

Joe and Andy stepped over, quickly retrieving the components needed for waffles, before Andy quirked an eyebrow at his husband. "D'you remember how to make waffles?"

Joe blinked, before giving a slow nod and a broad smile. "I made _a bunch_ in college when I was super stoned once."

Andy huffed in amusement, quickly sparing a glance as Amanda climbed up into a chair. "Do I want to know how many 'a bunch' is?"

Joe only clicked his tongue with a grin. "I dunno, it might be a deal breaker." Andy chuckled, shaking his head with the weight of his next words on the tip of his tongue, right before-

 

"Daddd, daddyyy, waffles." Amanda thunked her head against the table, eyes wide and lip jutting out pitifully, only making the two men chuckle and get on with breakfast, fuelled by the hope that Joe still remembered how to make pancakes, and that Andy, as a chemist, would know how to make them refrain from exploding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Alright- Alex, for the last time- get dressed- sh- _shoot_ -"

 

"Oh, that was close, Trick."

 

"Pete." Hitching their one year old daughter, Alice, up from her high chair, Patrick squinted at his husband- who was coolly leaning against a kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in his hand as he smiled at Patrick over it's rim.

 

"Dad!" Their younger son, Lewis, a little spitfire that had inadvertently, completely turned out like Pete in every way. Much to Patrick's dismay.

"Hey buddy-" Pete cut off with a surprised grunt as Lewis threw his arms around Pete's stomach, face pressing into an old band t-shirt Pete had owned since high school. Pete only huffed in amusement and continued drinking his coffee until, around a minute later, Lewis sprang away, darting back up to his room with a shout of- "THANKS DAD!"

Patrick's shout of- "Get dressed for school, Lewis!" fell on deaf ears as the laughter of their eldest sons echoed from the upstairs rooms.

Pete had learned to be a little more subtle with his powers, and, through a lot of trial and error that had resulted in so many burnt curtains, he'd learned how to tame the fire down to an ember. So, whenever somebody was cold, the set thing to do was flank Pete and hug him for a few minutes. It had the same effect as standing by a sweltering log fire, and a few minutes too many resulted in sweating like you'd just run a marathon.

 

As Patrick felt their four year old daughter, Jodie, tugging at his leg, eyes wide and bottom lip quivering as she silently pleaded for what she asked for every damn morning- Cinnamon Crunch. That also happened to be Patrick's favourite, and while that was a happy little medium in the otherwise, pretty hectic and differing opinions in the family on breakfast cereals, Patrick almost wanted to cry at the expression on Jodie's face.

 

Mornings were stressful. They always were.

 

No matter how many times Patrick told Alex and Lewis to get dressed for school, no matter how many times Jodie threw a tantrum for lack of cereal, and no matter how many times Alice started crying about _something_ \- nothing would ever actually get done, until-

 

"Alright, c'mon you." Pete scooped Jodie up in a second, before passing her a handful of cereal. Patrick only blinked slowly, eyes completely dull at this point. He asked the same question every morning every time Pete fed their daughter like she was a bird or something, "Really?"

"Dude-" And Pete would always give the same reason. "She likes the cereal, not the milk." And judging by Jodie's content munching and happy giggling, Patrick would smile and let it be.

"Alex, buddy." Pete stepped over to the bottom of the stairs, instantly coaxing their son to the top. "Yeah dad?"

"Get dressed- and Lewis-" There was only a faint chirpy yell of 'Yes dad?' that time, and Pete's raised eyebrows said it all. Alex nodded with a grin and darted away, yelling for Lewis and ordering for clothes, all while Pete turned back to Patrick with a smug grin.

 

He swept over to Patrick, laying a quick kiss on his husband's cheek and putting Jodie back down with a beam. "You're welcome, Trick."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Ready?"

Joe smiled down at Amanda; The little girl was clinging to his and Andy's hands, a beam on her face and a backpack firmly around her shoulders. Amanda didn't mind preschool, but unlike her parents, she had a lot more luck socially.

Joe had never understood his mom and dad's worry for his friendships until now; He wanted Amanda to be happy, to have friends, to enjoy every second of her life.

  
As they finally reached the preschool itself, Amanda reluctantly slipped her hands out of her parents', face falling a little as she did so. Joe crouched down, smile on his face and eyes reassuring. "You're gonna be okay, sweetheart."

The girl sniffed and nodded, arms tossing around his neck for a moment, before Joe stood up once more, smiling kindly the whole way. Andy gave her a pat on the head that coaxed a giggle, and soon enough, the entire air of sadness that clung to her disappeared with a cheery yell.

 

"Amanda!"

 

Joe and Andy's smiled as they caught Pete and Patrick with two of their four kids- that Joe was still amazed by (Jesus, taking care of _one_ was hard enough), striding towards the school. Their eldest daughter sprinted towards Amanda, pouncing on her with a bone crushing hug that she returned with raucous giggling and a grin.

 

"Hi uncle Joe, hi uncle Andy!" Jodie chirped, grin set wide before she and Amanda darted to the school, but not without a yell of farewell back to Pete and Patrick.

 

"Morning, assholes." Andy grinned at Pete and Patrick, hands finding his pockets as they all fell into that old, easy laughter. Pete rubbed at one of his eyes with a beam, "How are you sluts doin' today?"

Patrick sighed, rolling his eyes and hitching Alice a little further on his shoulder, making a vain attempt to shield her unknowing ears from the amount of obscenities in the air. "I swear, her first word's gonna be-"

 

"Dude, if it's a curse word, I'm gonna be _so_ proud."

 

Patrick glared weakly, before sighing breathily and shaking his head, making an effort to hide the tinge of amusement that threatened to grow into something more obvious.

 

"Alright, you guys ready?" A few more nods, and the four set on their way, not even toning down the swearing in the presence of a baby. "You guys are just- the _epitome_ of good role models."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Museum of Contemporary Photography. The sleek, shiny and modern museum that was currently hosting an exhibition by Pete L.K. Wentz. The Third. Pete always liked reminding Patrick about the 'The Third'.

Despite his love of his elaborate name, _thanks mom and dad_ , Pete wasn't too excited to be stepping through the doors of the familiar, sleek museum, to be truthful.

The others had insisted on going, on finding out Chicago itself was hosting an exhibition of his work, but Pete was a little worried, seeing as he was the only one aware of what the pictures _were_ , precisely.

And no, Pete hadn't gone around taking pictures of pizza or of naked people, it was nothing like that.

While Pete was well known- even famed, for his pictures involving meticulously lit and placed fire (to which nobody knew the secret to expect the other three, and his kids), he'd decided to try something a little different.

Apparently, it'd been pretty good. Or, _really good_. So many people had bought prints it was insane, and god, the amount of people willing to pay royalties to use the pictures as album covers, book covers- hell, even _posters_ , was insane. Fuck, even _National Geographic_ had asked to use a couple on an article about teenagers.

Pete had been making good money up until now, he'd been able to do more than just feed his family, but the little endeavour had really pushed things further, and Pete couldn't have been more ecstatic.

 

 

That was until the others insisted on going to check it out.

 

 

Andy had seen it in a newspaper. He'd read the sparkling reviews, and had obviously been very proud of one of his best friends. Since they were married and all, he'd told Joe- who had been equally as amazed and astounded at the success. Patrick had seen a poster for it when he was out grocery shopping, and with the combined pressure of the three dickheads he loved so much, Pete had buckled.

They'd made the agreement to go on an empty Monday morning, and to let Pete wear a hoodie; Signing autographs, answering questions, and being asked to explain the elaborate meaning behind a not-so elaborate picture happened way too much before, and on a Monday morning, whilst hanging out with his best friends, his husband and their one year old child- Pete just wasn't in the mood.

 

The walls were white and sleek, just like they always were in photography museums, and as the four paced forwards, Pete felt his heart thundering a little more with each step.

With a smile and a mutter of sparing Patrick's arms for a little while, Pete took Alice into his arms, and made a point of gently bouncing her as they walked. "Hey Allie." He whispered to his youngest child with a grin, and tried to distract himself with her giggling, her big, light eyes, her tiny hands fisting into his shirt, whilst trying to ignore the others nodding him over to the well made sign that clearly read his name.

Stifling his shaky sigh, Pete smiled, forced his eyes to crinkle, and followed.

 

 

 

 

Frames everywhere, black, matte, and housing the pictures Pete had taken such a long time ago. There were a few quotes pertaining to 'youth' on the wall, the largest being 'The embodiment of youth and discovery of self', huge and shiny black against the wall.

There was a print that filled a wall, it sat at the far end of the long, wide room, and seeing how goddamn big it was, it was the first thing the others saw.

 

It was the park they'd stayed at in Arkansas. It'd been so shitty and rundown but there'd been nowhere else around for miles, and Pete had been too exhausted to drive anymore without accidentally crashing.

They'd parked on the grass, but after a few minutes of struggling to actually fall asleep in the park where a kid must've definitely died at some point, they'd decided to do the rational, adult thing.

 

Go fuck around on the slide.

 

After a few failed attempts of sliding down it on foot, Pete had ended up with a broken ankle that Joe quickly fixed, before they decided to abandon the slide for the roundabout.

After spinning it with way too much enthusiasm, and after almost breaking the sound barrier, Patrick had thrown up in the grass and had needed a headache and acid reflux removal by Joe.

Seeing as the next object in the park was a seesaw, and seeing as they weren't too ecstatic for this to turn into a decapitation, they'd decided to go on the swings instead.

  
There'd been a row of five plastic swings, all chained with rusty metal. In order to actually see what they were doing- as the blue streetlights weren't doing an outstanding job, Pete had flicked the cars's headlights on, aiming them at the boys and almost blinding them.

 

Despite the harsh light, they'd gotten used to it and had taken to swinging, feet lurching themselves forwards through powdery dirt. Pete had watched them for a few seconds, before a bright idea had popped into his head. He fetched his camera, and took about three stealth pictures, all before they'd totally spotted him and had started laughing wildly, trying to shield themselves, and grinning like idiots.

  
It was dark, everything behind the yellow, chipped swings and rusty chains that squeaked awfully was black. The three boys were lit up by the streetlights- that were out of the picture, and by the car's headlights.

A crimson baseball hoodie stolen from Pete, black jeans and those dusty, leather boots that were folded at his ankles. Patrick was giggling, mouth set in an open grin as he weakly tried a glare, hands curled around the chains and legs kicked up and blurry in the movement.

A graphic metal band shirt, that pair of jeans that had accidentally gotten ripped on a jagged fence, the beaten sneakers. Andy had been on the way down; His head was a little tipped down, and his blue eyes were lit up like glowing oceans as he glanced upwards at the camera with a beam. One foot scraping against dirt with a cloud of powdered dirt, and the other backed up against the plastic of the swing seat.  
The baggiest grey hoodie imaginable, those dusty jeans he'd been wearing for close to a week, and the worn sneakers. Joe was laughing loudly, and Pete could practically hear the sound even now. One of his hands was splayed out in front of him, releasing the chain in reckless abandon as his legs folded around the swing's plastic.

 

That was the picture Pete had picked to be the theme for them all. And that was the picture that sat largest on the wall, in full, high definition, colourful, glory.

 

He was a little nervous about glancing at the others, but when he finally succumbed to the urgent curiosity, he hazarded a look over with timid, squinted eyes. And what he found calmed his heart down, and his ribs thanked them for it.

 

They were smiling. Softly, genuinely, and like a million memories were going through their heads.

 

With broad, proud, grateful grins, and eyes a little wetter than usual, the three gazes found Pete- who could only give a nervous laugh. Humour had always been his way of dejecting awkward, touchy feely stuff, so when he almost felt tears slipping down his cheeks, Pete nodded over at the other frames. "C'mon, you guys wanted to come here so badly, but _I'm_ not the art, y'know."

The easy laughter that always calmed Pete down rang out, and as they drifted over to the first pictures in the corner of the room, Pete sighed and took a seat with Alice, kissing the top of youth-blonde strands and trying to recall some memories from mind, all while smiling into the air dreamily.

  
The sunrises and sunsets, the cityscapes and the trees; The normal pictures to intersect and calm the pictures of teenage debauchery and stupidity, along with Pete's 'amazingly edited' marvels.

 

'Amazingly edited'…yeah right. Little did they know.

 

One had been the night in Maine; Pete's hand had been cupped, and in it's palm, had sat a long, spitting, orange flame, all while he himself gave the most dramatic expression and pose he could, imagining himself to be a magician.

There was another featuring flames, only, they were purple and blue that time; Patrick's hand had been hovering over the flames that Pete's gave, hands separated yet wanting by the fire.

 

Another had been a polar bear in the New Mexican desert. Pacing along in the orange dirt, minding its own business as it stared into the camera. Patrick's little ability had really come in handy.

While, nowadays, Patrick used it to comfort their upset children- usually by turning into a dog or whatever animal made them smile, back in the day, Patrick had been a lot more liberal with its usage.

 

Like that picture of Patrick turned into a fake Andy, waking up the real Andy; The real Andy's face had been priceless, jaw dropped, eyes wide, and face covered in pure terror and shock.

Or, like that selfie of Pete kissing himself- aka, that one time that Patrick had indulged him.

 

There'd been another of two Joe's on either side of Andy, all three boys giving thumbs up at the camera with dramatic, wide eyes and stiff, faux-shocked poses.

A Bengal tiger sat at a booth in Starbucks, glaring down at a cup of coffee scrawled with a horrific misspelling of 'Patrick'.

There'd even been one on their night in Nebraska; Patrick had turned into a stag after a lot of pleading, and after even _more_ pleading, he'd let Pete ride him around the Taco Bell drive-thru. Truly, a life highlight for Pete.

 

Andy had been caught in the middle of changing a Target receipt into a dollar bill, and in order to mock Pete a little, he'd showed it off to the camera; Pinching the paper between his fingers, covering half his face with the shifting bill.

 

There were a few more wholesome pictures, usually those of Joe healing broken things.

 

One was Joe hunched over a hissing Pete, who had just broken his leg after trying to jump over a wall. His hand was tight around the jutting lump under his skin, and Pete's pain and Joe's calmness was frozen in time.

There was another of Joe healing a hangover; Patrick had been lying on a bench, while Joe sat next to him with his hand on his skull, eyes calm and kind as Patrick looked to be asleep to the camera. In real life, he'd been bitching every five seconds, but that was their secret now, he supposed.

 

And then, came the normal ones. The ones that could've been taken by any dumb teenager in the desert with their friends.

 

Andy's hands, holding up the 'Fuck City' tattoo on his fingers. The neon sparklers. Joe's head in front of the Space Needle. Denny's in the small hours; Joe's top half sprawled on the table, Andy's cheek against the glass, Patrick staring at pancakes with deep disdain.

 

The four battered sneakers against bumpy, St. Louis concrete. Red hair poking out from under a wool hood of a leather jacket in North Dakota. Andy's back lit up by the sun. Patrick giving a humming, blue-tinted vending machine a peace sign and a painfully sarcastic grin.

 

Blue-haired Patrick, hunched over in the passenger's seat, towel on his thighs; strands soaked and face glowering as he flipped off the camera. That night they'd stolen shopping carts, and had used them to race across the sidewalk. Joe smoking a blunt, lit up by the blue tint of a streetlight as his profile defined the picture. That night they'd been delinquents, and had decided to write their names in a slab of wet concrete. The back of Patrick's teal strands as he looked up at a wall of bright, cartoonish graffiti.

 

Their legs and shoes, the boot of the car, a huge white screen- that night at the drive-in. Joe getting the Cerberus tattoo from a guy that looked as though he had more ink than blood, mouth pressed into a line, eyes beading with tears, and hand clasping his short brown curls as he desperately tried not to scream or writhe. The needle of 'Fuck City' poking past Andy's skin. The 'Straightedge' tattoo Pete had gotten in Florida, after that whole fiasco in Las Vegas.

 

Oh. Las Vegas. He hadn't forgotten the unlikely weddings that had stayed strong to this day.

 

A few neon shot glasses, clear liquid submerging a scorpion, Patrick sticking his tongue out in disgust and Andy grimacing just after they'd downed something red and angry.

A pale and tanned pair of hands, tangled together, rings looped around fingers. Two hooded figures lying together; One, that was actually Joe, lying on another, that was actually Andy. Pete and Patrick playing red hands on a dumb, sweltering morning; Grins on their faces, hands sore and scarlet, and shoulders perpetually hunched.

 

However, one of Pete's absolute favourites was right at the start of the trip, right when they'd been leaving Illinois. They'd been at a red light, and the 'fun' CD had been in full swing, with a bass boosted version of Mad World playing loudly on the speakers. Patrick's face had spoken a thousand words.

 

One he really liked too, but that was way before the trip had ever happened was also based around fire. To be more specific, it was a candid of Fuckface the Raggedy Ann doll, burning in the fire pit at his parents' house.

He'd taken two. One of the doll consumed by hellfire, and another of the same thing, only with Andrew and Hillary standing behind it; Andrew's arms were crossed, and his face was set in terrified stubbornness. Whereas Hillary...well, Hillary was just laughing like a crazy person, revelling in the fact that her most hated doll had been disposed of.

 

And, despite the exhibit mostly being comprised of their old road trip around the whole country, Pete couldn't resist throwing in a couple of pictures he'd taken of the guys over the years.

 

Their backs as they sat on a rock, overlooking the lake in the woods; Boxes of takeout, bags, and jackets strewn around them as they gazed up at the trees.

 

Patrick, the first night they'd brought Alice home. It was almost the picture Pete had pictured all those nights ago. Pacing around, batman sweatpants, a baggy star wars shirt- stolen from Pete, of course. A baby in his arms, his hand soothing over her back, and his lips parted in the song he'd sang to Pete on that old night.

 

Another was a little similar, it was the night Amanda had been given over to Joe and Andy. Andy was in the background, dealing with some papers at the reception, whilst Joe was rocking the pink newborn, trying to keep her from crying, and trying to keep her asleep.

 

The day they'd taken their kids to the beach had provided some gems too. Like the picture of Alex and Lewis, soaked in muddy, wet sand and grinning as they tried to build a monstrous, gargantuan sandcastle.

Or the one of Jodie and Amanda; Hunched over in the shallows of the sea, digging up shells and pebbles from the sand and squinting at them- they'd been playing 'archaeologists'.

 

There was another of Lewis on Patrick's lap, an acoustic guitar in front of them as both pairs of eyes focused on the strings. Patrick's fingers bent beautifully over the frets, and his other hand picking at the thin metal strands as that awe-inspiring look of focus set across his features.

 

Joe, the ever responsible doctor, tending to a red, bloody, scraped knee, after Alex had taken a pretty harsh fall from trying to skate down a park slide. Like father like son, Joe had said.

 

Andy reading one of Rohl Dahl's books to a pack of wide-eyed kids, all clambering over each other while trying to catch a glimpse of the crocodile moving on the pages.

 

Another one of Pete's favourites had definitely been what he'd come home to find one Friday night.

Patrick lying on the couch in a bundle of blankets, all while ghostbusters buzzed on the tv; Alice had been lying on his chest, Alex had been splayed out by his side, Lewis had been curled up with a hand grabbing at his arm, and Jodie had been settled over him, fighting for a place by her younger sister.

 

Pete smiled to himself. All those little fragments of time, all those memories, all those places. The faces, the clothes, the eyes.

They'd never be like that again, never would something replicate. Nothing would just be how it was in those pictures, and Pete felt an overwhelming peace inside his chest as he realised he'd caught those beautiful moments in time.

No matter how much time passed, how many grey hairs ran through their hair, or how many wrinkles sagged their skin, those pictures would freeze them in time forever.

And one day, when Alex, Lewis, Jodie, Alice, and Amanda all grew up, they'd be able to look back on a few and remember their childhoods; Maybe they'd look back on their dads' being idiots. That might be it too.

And someday, they'd take their own pictures, make their own jokes. Steal their own shopping carts, get their own ill-advised tattoos, go on their own reckless trips. They'd play on their own swings, they'd sing to their own dumb CDs, they'd take their own mocking selfies. They'd find friends, places, and things that calmed their hearts against their ribs.

 

They'd find their own lake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What felt like minutes but had probably been hours passed, when three other figures took seats on the benches at Pete's side. He glanced towards them, finding teary eyes, broad watery smiles, and that warm feeling that buzzed through the arm.

They all tore their gazes away from each other, and instead, moved them up to the picture that sat in front of them. Huge, bright, and taking up a good deal of space on the white wall. A blown memory which they now gazed upon with awe.

 

A selfie. Maybe more shallow than it should've been.

 

All four of them in the frame, cheeks pressed together. It'd been taken just after they'd come home from the trip, just after summer had ended.

Eyes bright, yet bagged. Blue hair and blonde hair, coupled with strands that had remained natural. A lip ring, a few peace signs, cheesy grins.

 

And behind it all, a sign. Royal blue, accented with yellow. 7 yellow stars, and the words that had made their heats leap with glee all those years ago.

 

 

 

 

_Welcome to Wilmette, Illinois._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of another fic!  
> This one has been such a joy to write, and the sheer amount of feedback has been priceless to me, I've loved every second of it! Thank you all so much for your time, your comments, your kudos, your bookmarks- it's all appreciated so, so much, and I'm honestly just so flattered, so humbled and it all still feels like a dream, like, I can't really believe it??
> 
> Now, as for the next fic, it was really close and had been shifting all day, but eventually fic A came out on top! At 29 for A, and 27 for B, the next story, as voted by you guys, will be here tomorrow, so stay tuned for that one. Even if it's not what you voted for, I really hope you'll give it a chance, and always bear in mind that all the other stories will be written at some point or another; I'm in total love with all of these ideas, so there's a lot more to come, I'm not letting it go lol.
> 
> Thank you all so much again, I love you all, and I hope you've enjoyed this story. See you guys tomorrow! <3
> 
> Okay, bois and grills, update/A/N, etc: I gotta admit, I'm struggling with fic A's plot. I literally stomped out of bed to come let you guys know/give you a heads up.  
> I'm gonna kick around a few ideas, trying brainstorming, but if I can't make a good enough story with it/can't find enough motivation for it, then fic B will be uploaded tomorrow. I know the vote's been settled (despite a few being adding after closing time), and I'm really sorry if anyone ends up disappointed, but I really don't want to write something subpar for you; It means a lot to me to write something of a good quality, because I really want you guys to enjoy it. Thank you all so much for understanding, and I'll see you tomorrow. <33


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